


Through the Grapevine

by n_nami



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20 coda, Afterlife, Anal Sex, Bi!Dean, Bisexuality, Cas pining, Dean figuring shit out, Fluff, Frottage, Heaven, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Finale, Slow Burn, closet key!Cas, coming-out, lots of making out, lots of smut, no hurt just comfort, season 16 basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 110,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_nami/pseuds/n_nami
Summary: No time like the afterlife to figure out the things you never got to figure out on earth.
Relationships: Amelia Novak/Jimmy Novak, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Comments: 597
Kudos: 725





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So long story short, I saw the finale and cried a lot and decided that I needed to write this. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I will enjoy writing it.

Dean drives. Sings from the top of his lungs.

The road is endless, and the Impala leaves only dust in its wake. To have her here, with him, is truly heaven – responding to every tap on the gas pedal, every inch he turns the steering wheel, the way she slides around the corner when he hits the breaks. She is his only focus, no thought interrupting their reunion.

For a while, it's exactly what he needs. Only him and Baby and the open road, no end in sight.

Dean drives, and when he eventually decides to head back, he stops in the middle of the turning maneuver. Puts the car in park and gets out.

The hood is warm when he leans against it, the radiator sure got a workout there.

Dean allows himself to breathe, in through his nose, out through his mouth.

There's so much to think about, he doesn't even know where to start, but he can't stall forever. How about the fact that he's in heaven? That it's not his own little private heaven, however that would look like – no, that it's _their_ heaven. Having known the principle of heaven, getting used to this will take a moment.

It had crossed his mind, sitting with Bobby in front of Harvelle's. Who he'd meet in there if he went in.

The truth is, Dean is both ecstatic and afraid. There are so many people he lost, so many people he looks forward to seeing again.

He's going to see his Mom and Dad again, together and happy. He can't wait. He can watch TV with Bobby in the evening, talking about old hunts and drinking too many beers.

He can't wait to see Sam again.

But he's not ready to face the roadhouse. Maybe start small, like with Bobby. One person at a time.

“I guess I could start with praying,” he mumbles under his breath, looks out at the sun setting over the hillside. “Should, probably.”

And that's the other thing.

Cas is here. Cas is _not_ in the Empty. Cas rebuilt heaven with Jack.

To know that makes Dean's mind spin.

“ _I love you.”_

He hears it, the way Cas' voice broke. His heart thumps hard against his ribcage, thinking about his answer. The truth was the only thing he could say, as overwhelmed with everything as he was. And then--

“ _Goodbye, Dean.”_

The tears, the smile, the look in his eyes. Dean blinks, his stomach in knots.

He wishes Sam was here so he could talk to him about it. He'd understand. But he won't be here for a while, or so Dean hopes because Sam deserves the world and a happy life and he'll get here soon enough.

Dean doesn't feel ready to tackle this, but when has he ever felt ready to face his truths. He can admit to the ache he's felt ever since Cas told him, well, _that._

He looks up at the sky and feels stupid, since he already is in heaven. So he huffs at his shoes and laughs about himself.

“So, um,” he starts, clears his throat. His heart is beating too loud. Why is this so hard?

The thought strikes unexpected, like a freight train. _If Cas is in heaven, he knows I'm here, right? Why hasn't he met me? Waited for me?_

Doesn't he yearn to be here with him the way Dean does? _Wow, that came straight outta nowhere,_ Dean thinks and rolls his eyes at himself. So what, he can be poetic. At times.

Only one way to find out.

“So,” Dean rasps, wishes he'd had a drink, then remembers the cooler box on the back seat. The door of the Impala creaks the way it does since the accident with Dad – he never quite figured out why. But the sound makes him smile.

Dean grabs two beers, his favorite brand, but doesn't open them yet.

He just sits down on the hood of the Impala, feet up on her chrome trim, and thinks. About the end of all things. About being killed by some vampire. He huffs with amusement. “A vampire did you in. You killed _Hitler_ and a fucking vampire gets the job done,” he smiles at the irony of the universe.

Being alone with this thought is, somehow, cathartic.

He always knew he'd die hunting.

He always knew Sam would only get a life if hunting wasn't an option any more.

Because hunting never gave Sam peace, but not hunting never gave Dean peace.

So Dean's good.

He opens the first beer, and the second.

“Cas, if you want it, I've got something here for you,” he mumbles at the beer label.

He doesn't know what to expect. A flutter of wings, maybe? A quiet 'hello, Dean'. No sparks here in the open field, not like the night they first met. There's not a blade in his hand either.

Hopefully, the trenchcoat is in place and not a single bee in sight.

The memory catches him so off-guard, he's full-on laughing, curling into his knees. Hence why in the end, he doesn't hear neither bees buzzing nor feathers fluttering. But he feels the Impala's front suspension dip with another body's weight and still chuckles when he sees him.

Cas doesn't speak, just watches him, from where he sits on the hood, legs outstretched in front of him.

Dean shakes his head, doesn't want to ruin the mood or the situation, but--

Cas is here. Will be here. No more apocalypses, Lucifers rising, no more demons and Cains and Darknesses. They're done, they're at peace. For a few breathless moments, he grins a dopey grin at Cas.

He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to address this _thing_ between them.

Ever since that day in the bunker, ever since the Empty took Billie and took Cas, ever since Cas laid out all the cards in his hand while Dean wasn't even aware of the game of Poker going on – ever since then, he tried to process that piece of information. At first, he was in full denial. When it hit that Michael and Lucifer were gone, and God was no more, and everything was fine and they were free – when it hit, it hit hard.

They had made it, gotten through all of it, but lost Cas, and Dean's chance at whatever this thing was, was lost with him.

Alone in his room in the bunker, the night after everything went down, it had hit. Dean still can't put a finger on what he was feeling that night.

He'll get there.

For now, he can be happy just looking at Cas. He wants to hug him, but there's two open bottles of beer still in his hands and Cas sits on the car, facing forward like Dean, and it's just an awkward angle and they can always do this later.

“Here,” is what Dean ends up saying, handing him the second beer.

Cas eyes the bottle, then takes it. “You knew I was here, that I would come.”

“Bobby told me.”

They lock eyes, and Dean is once again reminded just how blue Cas' eyes are. Bottles clink, and they both turn towards the setting sun when they take a sip.

“Good job you did here with Jack.”

“I'm quite fond of it, too,” Cas says, tilting his head back, studying the clear sky. It's easy to get lost, staring at him. “I also agree with him. Heaven is the way it is now, because the angels meddled on earth, but it's finally time to just – let things go their natural course. It's better this way.”

“Yeah, I... appreciate it,” Dean says, tapping the hood of the car.

Cas looks at him, lips opening around a question that never gets asked, because Dean knows exactly what he wants to ask.

“I'm good, Cas,” he nods solemnly, “real good.”

Cas shuts his mouth, the edges of his lips quirking upwards.

It's quiet, between them, the comfortable kind. Cas doesn't press, and Dean wallows in this feeling of normalcy. They drink, and toast again. Sam is missing, obviously, but there will be time for that. They have time, now.

“It was a vampire with the shittiest mask I've ever seen. Like, seriously. Straight outta Sam's nightmares. Juggalo-Vampires. So cheap,” Dean chuckles, in the end. “I'd like to say I didn't have a chance but it was dumb luck, I guess.”

“Sometimes that's all it takes,” Cas smiles at him. “Did you get to say goodbye to Sam, the way you wanted to?”

Dean nods, feels his nose clog up. He sniffles. He knows he can cry and Cas is the last person on earth – or in heaven – who would judge him for it. Hell, he's cried in front of Cas almost as often as in front of Sam. It just doesn't feel right to cry _now._ “So, uh. What do you do now, Cas?”

“Me? I'm just here, watching over the souls in my charge.”

“And the other angels?”

“All seven of us, you mean? They're all over the globe, but actually, Jack put a lot of thought into this rebuild. Lot of automatics, no angels needed to push buttons for eternity. There's not much to do for us,” Cas tilts his head back, empties the bottle in his hand. "We live here like humans."

Dean gets up to take it from him and get them another round from the cooler. “So, no more obligations for you?”

“Maybe here and there. Nothing much.”

Dean steps around to stand in front of him, unopened beers in hand. “That's. Good, I guess.” The sun is blinding, standing low.

“Dean,” Cas starts, voice as gravely as ever as he slides off the hood and straightens up to his full height.

Dean puts the beers down, into the dirt at his feet. “There's something I meant to do,” he says on the exhale, then closes the space between them.

It only hits him now that they never hugged goodbye back at the bunker.

With a huff, Dean reaches around Cas' hips and pulls him close, rests his chin in the nook of his neck. Cas' arms come up to his shoulders, a bit awkward, but he leans into Dean.

Three thoughts hit Dean all at once.

Cas loves him, and told him so. And part of him wants to make sure that they are, in fact, on the same page. That this is Love with a capital L. Then again, he is also not a teenage girl and these thoughts are making his insides uneasy.

The one thing Cas thought he could never have, and Dean wants to scream into the world that Cas always had him. Always.

And the last part is the nagging doubt if this is really the heaven he deserves.

He pushes every thought aside that he can't deal with right now, so – all of them.

“I missed you, man,” is what he can deal with and admit to right now, so he says it.

Cas' hands grab his jacket, and he fits perfectly against Dean in a way Dean never noticed. If the hug goes on a bit too long, there's that, Cas wouldn't necessarily notice and Dean doesn't want to point it out. They have time. They should take it.

When they do finally break apart, Dean suppresses a sigh. Part of him just wants to go for it. Cas looks at him all weird – eyes wide and lips slightly open, vulnerable almost, like he's waiting. Dean's fingertips tingle with the need to touch, so he cups Cas' cheek in his hand. There's rough stubble and a defined jawline and the thought to just lean in and plant one on this angel is both thrilling and scary.

It's _Cas_. Cas _loves_ him. Probably _like that._

And so help him Jack, Dean loves this angel, his angel, something fierce.

He also has never kissed a man before and junkless or not, Cas is in a male vessel.

Dean hesitates and the moment is gone when his hand slides down the side of Cas' neck.

His stomach plummets, but then Cas smiles, warm, soft, and shoots him a knowing glance. And it's ok.

“What do we do now?” Dean gulps.

“What do you want to do?” Cas replies.

Dean shakes his head. Laughs on the exhale. “Deja-vu.”

“Bobby?” Cas has definitely picked up on Sam's sass because there's a Sam eyebrow if Dean ever saw one.

“Yeah.”

“I meant to be there when you got here, you know,” Cas averts his eyes, squints into the sundown.

With a tilt of his head and no idea what to say, Dean gives him an inquiring look.

“Your mom, actually. She suggested you'd maybe appreciate some time on your own before facing me.”

So Cas and his mom already share Sunday dinner in heaven. _Great,_ Dean thinks and laughs to himself. “She wasn't wrong.”

“And Bobby offered, you know. He already had a feeling you would be here soon. He was also the one who was sure you'd land at the roadhouse.”

“Hm,” Dean nods.

Cas looks at him, open and direct, leaning back against the hood of the Impala, next to him. Their hips are touching. Dean doesn't mind one bit.

“Let's drive back,” Dean says. “I haven't even looked into that Roadhouse.”

A small smile spreads on Cas' lips. “There are... a lot of people there, waiting for you.”

Dean takes a deep breath, grabs the unopened beers because _twelfth Commandment: never waste beer,_ and gets behind the wheel. As he pulls out onto the road, he chuckles. “Not much traffic.”

“You do realize that most people don't take their car with them into the afterlife,” Cas states, dry as ever, but his unique kind of humor shining through if you know what to look for.

Dean does, and laughs. “Well I'm not most people, and Baby here is not most cars,” he says, hands trailing over the worn, soft leather of the wheel. “But wait, there are cars? What about, I dunno, accidents and stuff?”

“Traffic accidents don't happen, Dean. Heaven is set up that way.”

“Huh,” Dean tilts his head, adds, “Well,” and floors the gas pedal.

“Why did I know you would do that,” Cas huffs with amusement.

Dean smirks, “You know me too well.”

The drive into the sunset and not-quite night is beautiful, picturesque even. Dean knows this atmosphere, spent years and years driving over night, cross-country. It's comfort and familiarity, and Cas at his side is quiet as the cassette tape he recorded for him not too long ago spins in the recorder. B-side, A-side, B-side, and back, until he pulls up to the Roadhouse.

As he kills the engine, Dean takes a look at the gas meter and blinks at Cas. “How is my tank still full?”

Cas shrugs. “It's heaven. Why would you need to count your miles and look for a gas station?”

“Huh,” Dean stares out the windshield. “Makes sense, I guess. You comin' or what?”

And with that, he gets out of the car.

The roadhouse sure is busy. There's music blaring through the closed door, laughter and rough shouts and the clinking of glasses.

Dean spins on his heel, right in front of the door, and ends up in Cas' space. Not that that's new. He doesn't flinch or retreat, and Cas doesn't either. “Wait, if I don't need to refill the tank-- do I even get drunk here?”

“If you want to get drunk, you will. If you don't, you won't.”

It takes him a moment, but there's more questions piling up. “No hangover? What about sleep?”

“You don't need to sleep if you don't want to, but human souls are still human minds. Humans are used to routines, so most just go to bed to rest their minds and not disturb their routines.”

“And showers?”

“If you enjoy showers, shower. If you enjoy doing laundry, do your laundry. You can do whatever you want.” Cas smiles, then. “Now. Why don't you step inside.”

Taking a deep breath is hard. Dean nods to himself. “There's a lot of nostalgia, here.”

“And people who love you,” Cas adds. “Who have been waiting for you.”

Dean takes another lungful of crisp, warm evening air. “Yeah, I know.”

He hesitates, with his hand on the door handle.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas' voice is low, curious but calming.

Dean doesn't know. So many people in there. Who missed him, who he had missed. When they died, quite a couple were in his presence.

“Some of those people died because of me.” Dean swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Souls can't go to heaven if they hold a grudge or have unfinished business. Those people don't.”

Deep breath.

He feels it before he realizes. Soft fingertips are blindly searching for his in the semi-darkness, trailing along his palm, not quite sure how to do this.

Dean laces their fingers together. Huffs out a laugh, looks up at the first stars.

“Whenever you're ready,” Cas squeezes, just a bit.

They are holding hands.

Still, Dean can't quite connect the dots between his friend, the angel – Cas, the guy holding his hand – and loving this person who is not what he ever thought about, physically.

They have time, now.

And Dean can take all the time he wants.

If he doesn't want to go in there, he doesn't need to, and Cas won't make him.

But he wants to see them. Whoever is in there because it sounds _packed._

He turns the door knob and enters the building.

Cas doesn't let go of his hand.

The place _is_ packed, all tables fully seated and not a single free stool at the bar. Some people are playing darts and pool in the back, and Dean smells whiskey and beer, smoke and bacon, pizza and worn wood and yes – this, this is heaven.

A few heads turn towards them, but suddenly, there's a whisper, and then, there's nothing.

For a couple seconds, it's eerily quiet, until a familiar voice from the bar breaks the silence. Dean's hand tightens around Cas' behind his back.

“Finally found your way in, huh, Dean Winchester?” Ellen shouts, laughter around his name.

“Ellen,” he says on the exhale, smiles, and means it when he adds, “Good to see you.”

“You too, boy,” she answers, arms outstretched as she approaches to hug him. Dean drops Cas' hand on reflex. “And you, Castiel,” she adds, over his shoulder. “It's been too long.”

“It has,” Cas says.

The jukebox is playing the last notes of a Boston song.

When Ellen leans back and grabs Dean's shoulders, her smile turns into a full-on grin. “So tell me, what was it, who was it? Your first time here, that's important.”

Stepping from one foot onto the other as he watches Ellen hug Cas with a fond smile, too, Dean shrugs. He tries to sound nonchalant. “Vampire.”

“A vampire!” Ellen booms, and the patrons suddenly cheer and roar. “Dracula shots for everyone! Follow me!”

She turns towards the bar.

Dean blinks, frowns, looks at Cas, mouths, 'what?' but follows her nonetheless.

It's the moment he steps up to the bar that he sees her smile, more confident than shy this time. “Jo,” he nods.

Ok, this, this is hella weird.

“Hi, Dean,” she says, ducking under the countertop, and Dean can see it. Another lifetime, another universe, another world where he doesn't have an angel by his side _who loves him._

Still wrapping his mind around that one.

Jo's eyes flit over to Cas when she comes back up with a huge box full of shot glasses.

“Can I help you?” Dean offers, checking to see that yes, indeed, Ellen and Jo are manning the bar alone. “Seriously. Like, if everyone gets a shot--”

“Yeah, that'd be nice. If you want?” Jo gets another box of shot glasses, and hands Dean a towel and a bottle of whatever the hell that Dracula thing is, when she comes back up.

Dean lines up shot glasses and fills them as Jo gets tray after tray to the tables. The liquid in the bottle is a deep, burgundy-purple, thick liquor sloshing out. It smells sweet and spicy and Dean has never had anything like it. He expects something too sweet and fruity, like raspberries and black currant.

When he's done, Dean notices that the bottle never once ran out, even though he poured like 200 shots. “Of course,” he mumbles to himself, grinning, and Cas gives him a wistful smile from across the counter, like he knew exactly what was going on inside his head right now. Which, since it's Cas, is probably the exact thing that happened.

“Chee--” Dean raises his own glass, when Ellen stops him with a hand on his elbow.

Jo gets up onto a small step, pot and wooden spoon in hand, banging them together for attention.

The bar falls silent for a second, before Ellen raises her glass. “To Dean Winchester!”

“To Dean Winchester!” the bar collectively roars in reply, and the sound of so many voices, happy, proud, welcoming, shakes Dean to the core. He seeks comfort in the only place he knows he can find it, and Cas' blue eyes have a spark to them when Dean meets them. And it is comfort and warmth and soothing.

He buries his nose in the shot glass, downs the liquor. Everything is a bit much.

It goes down with a spicy, slightly bitter aftertaste. “What the fuck was that?” Dean frowns.

“Dracula,” Ellen shrugs. “Black currant and ginger liquor. If a hunter goes down by vamp, this is what we toast with. If it's a shapeshifter, we go with whiskey, wendigo is vodka, Nazi zombie is Korn. You get the idea.”

Dean smiles into the empty shot glass. “So I know it wasn't a shifter, but you mentioned whiskey?”

“Gotcha,” Ellen says, “Now if you don't intend to work on your first night in heaven, get your cute ass over to that angel of yours.”

Dean gets a tumbler glass with a doubled up whiskey of the smoky, Scottish kind pushed into his hand before Ellen pats him on the back to get him away from the counter.

When he sidles up to Cas and presses against him from shoulder to knee, he blames it purely on the fact that the roadhouse is as full as it is. “You always this busy?” he asks Jo, who puts away shot glasses into a dishwasher and wipes the countertop.

“Mostly, yes,” she answers, then winks, “but tonight is special. Hearing that you were here made a lot of people show up that are here maybe once a week? If at all. They wanted to welcome you.”

For a moment, Dean looks at his hands. Rough, patches of scars everywhere. Countless fights, knuckles split open on glass, mirrors, washing basins, knives.

Cas nudges his elbow.

And the short twinkle of doubt in Dean's mind, that most of these people are here because he dragged them down with him, that he's not worthy – it's gone.

'You are not your anger, Dean,' Cas said, and he's right. He's not. Even though he always doubted good intentions making up for bad results and casualties.

'You did it, all of it, for love.'

As a thanks for the reminder, Dean reaches over, without a plan or without a second thought, finds his hand on Cas' back and no idea where to put it. Between his shoulder blades is weird, so Dean lets his hand drop to the small of his back. It still feels too intimate when he puts some pressure there, when Cas looks at him and smiles, softly.

There's that mental connection again.

Dean mirrors the smile, but looks away and removes his hand when the door at the back of the bar opens. “Yo, what's going on here?”

“Look who's here,” Jo says, simultaneously grinning at Dean and Ash.

“Ash! Look at you,” Dean chuckles at the Motörhead shirt and the cut-off with the big-ass Black Sabbath patch.

“Dean, long time, no see! Wait, did I just miss your toast because of Fortnight? Fuck!”

Wordlessly, Dean grabs the bottle of Dracula and two shot glasses and pours another for Ash and himself.

“So, vamp, huh?” Ash chuckles.

Dean shrugs with a lopsided smile. “I guess you could say I had it coming.” The second time around, Dean has to admit that he kind of likes the liquor.

Cas just watches, confused, from the sidelines, and while Dean chats with Ash, about the current state of gaming – not that he has any clue but Ash apparently thinks he'd enjoy Resident Evil for some reason – Dean feels pride swell in his chest. Cas hasn't met a lot of the people that were family to him, either because they were dead already or because it didn't line up.

They get to catch up on so much now, and Dean is so looking forward to that.

“So, how about it?” Ash waggles his eyebrows, interrupting Dean's thought process. “A round or two?”

“Nah, sorry,” Dean shifts on his feet, hip bumping into Cas' on accident, “Definitely another day, but there's still so many people I'd like to say hello to.” He stays where he is, the touch grounding him.

“Sure,” Ash smiles, looks pointedly at where they're touching, “Also, awesome to finally meet you, Castiel. Heard a lot about you.”

Cas startles, nods his head in surprise and apparently doesn't know what to say.

Dean smirks as he pats Cas' shoulder. “Only good things, I'm sure.”

Ash grins, looks from Dean to Cas and back when Dean realizes something.

“Wait, so Cas – you haven't been here before?”

It's Cas' turn to shrug. “I didn't see a reason to meddle. People are very... content, here, at the Roadhouse.”

“Aw, man, you've been missing out. But I'll introduce you to everyone anyway, whether you like it or not,” Dean's smirk is probably obnoxious but what can he say, he's happy. “So this is Ash, best haircut in town, computer genius and good taste in music.”

Ash burps.

Dean throws his head back with a laugh and Cas tries and fails to suppress a small smile. “I can see why you like each other.”

“Hey,” Dean takes a sip of his drink, tries to think of a comeback and comes up blank. “I dunno if that's an insult, Cas.”

“It's not,” Cas says, head tilting to the side, staring at Dean with that unblinking gaze. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Dean admits with a wink.

When he looks back at Ash, he sees him chugging his beer and seemingly feeling out of place. “Alright, you two lovebirds, I'mma head back – revenge and stuff.” He doesn't wait for an answer before returning to his room.

And as they make their round through the room, they meet Rufus, and Bobby again, and quite a few other hunters Dean has known back in the day. Ash returns for a bottle of Jack, Cas almost runs into Jo who collects empty bottles, and Ellen catches Dean's elbow when he walks past the bar to the bathrooms.

“I know you probably don't have a place yet, but if you want to sleep, I've got a few rooms upstairs.”

Dean, halfway on his way to being properly drunk, gives her a gummy smile. “I'll take you up on that offer, though Baby's back seat would've been enough for me.”

“It's heaven, Dean, no need to fold yourself into the back seat of your car. Especially with company,” she winks before looking across the room to where Cas sits at Bobby's and Rufus' table, a perfunctory beer in his hands.

Before Dean can reply or deflect or deny anything, she's already on her way to get him another drink.

He doesn't know what time it is, but he later finds himself at the bar, chin on his hands, eyes drooping. It's been a long ride, a long conversation with Cas, a long evening with lots of catching up.

“Get your ass into bed,” Ellen says, and Dean can see Cas appearing at his side – or maybe he was there all along? - probably the latter.

“Yeah,” he nods, and Cas has to grab him around the shoulders to get him up the stairs.

Dean flops down on the bed like a wet sack of potatoes, and notices Cas sitting down on the only chair in the room.

“You're just gonna--?” he breaks off, waves at Cas. Words fail him.

“If you don't mind, I'll watch some TV. Heaven is quiet. No maintenance for me, so I'd rather stay here.”

“Sure,” Dean mumbles, eyes already closed when a thought hits him. “Quick question before I forget. How do I get my own place?”

“I'll tell you tomorrow,” Cas replies, tone fond. The last thing Dean remembers is Cas' lips, so close, when he goes to the bedside table to grab the TV remote.

But he's drunk and tired, that blissful state where you can't move, right before the bed starts to spin. He doesn't _want_ to move, but he manages to pat at Cas when he turns around, and maybe hits the vague vicinity of his ass.

 _Gotta start somewhere,_ he thinks. “Good night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean and Cas reunite in heaven, but pointedly don't talk about what happened when they last were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to drop this chapter this morning but as we are all aware, news broke and adjustments had to be made. Expect minor changes to chapter 1, too.
> 
> "Te amo." - "Y yo a ti, Cas."

When he wakes up, there's no alarm, no one breaking into his room. But there's no gun under his pillow, either, which, not so ironically, is the more disturbing part of this morning.

Sunlight is glimpsing through the curtains in front of the window. No birds chirping, though, so Dean is a bit disappointed.

Sitting up, he notices the remote sitting on the side table, and the chair pushed sideways for a good sight at the TV. Cas is gone, though.

Dean doesn't remember when he last had almost a full night of rest.

With a yawn, he gets up, uses the bathroom down the hall and realizes that in heaven, there's no morning breath, and indeed, no hangover. It's entirely too early to think about anything, though.

He knows Cas will be back anyway.

His hair is still a mess, but it doesn't matter. Dean only gives it a halfhearted rub with his wet hand to flatten it somewhat. He wears yesterday's clothes – who cares, they're comfy and as Cas said – no doing laundry if you don't enjoy it. When Dean heads downstairs, scratching at the stubble on his cheek, he can hear it, smell it.

The sizzle of eggs, the flavor of freshly fried bacon. And coffee, and music. He smiles to himself.

Coming down the stairs, he sees Ash in the kitchen, handling pans and listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd on probably the loudest setting of the radio. “Mornin'!” he shouts over 'South down yunkin', but Ash doesn't hear him.

“Morning,” Ellen answers him instead, wiping glasses behind the counter. “You hungry?”

“'course,” Dean grins. “Can I help with something?”

“Nah, Ash's got it. Just grab a plate for yourself and don't approach him from behind when you go into the kitchen,” Ellen motions towards the pile of clean cutlery and dishes.

“Aye,” Dean salutes, and does as told. 

Ash only nods as he loads up his plate, and Ellen puts a huge mug of coffee on the counter for him. “Your Cas is over there, by the way,” she nods towards the corner, up front by the window.

When Dean approaches the table, Cas turns from looking out the window to him. “Good morning, Dean.” There's only a half full cup of coffee in front of him.

“Mornin', sunshine,” Dean chuckles as he sits down across the table. “TV too boring for you?”

“I--” Cas huffs, one edge of his lips pulling upwards. “Yes.”

“You eaten yet?”

“Dean, I don't--”

“Yeah, but you could, and this-” Dean picks up a piece of bacon, bites into it to show off its crunch. “-is _awesome._ Ash knows what he's doing. Here.”

Dean pushes his overfilled plate to the middle of the table so they both can eat from it.

“Since when do you share bacon?” Cas asks him wearily, eyes squinting at him.

“Dude, heaven. _Unlimited_ bacon,” Dean waves a piece around that he picked up while still chewing the first one.

Cas amicably takes a strip of bacon for himself and starts munching.

“What, nothing?” Dean frowns in mock-offense.

Cas shrugs. “I like it? Or else I wouldn't eat it. I don't need the sustenance anyway.”

“I'm aware. Just,” Dean stuffs a whole sausage into his mouth, chews while he speaks. Cas is probably the only person not disgusted of his way of eating, and Dean so doesn't care anyway – but it also makes him feel a bit more comfortable, being able to be himself around Cas. “Live a little, would ya. Enjoy the little things.”

“I understand,” Cas confirms, a tiny smile on his lips. “So you asked me about how to get your own place.”

“Yeah, so tell me.” The coffee is perfectly hot, but just cooled down enough to drink. Dean gulps down a huge sip.

“You can live however you want.”

Putting down his mug, Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I think I got that now. But, if I'd like to, say, have a cabin in the woods, I can just wish it into existence?”

“Yes,” Cas nods. “If it's what you truly want.”

“Or a castle, or the bunker?”

“Yes.”

“Wait. Is our bunker, the Men of Letters bunker, is it here in this world? Does it exist?” Dean asks through a mouthful of more bacon, more coffee.

“If you want it to, it is. It can be wherever you want it to be. If you want to build your own home, you can. If you want to live in a shed in the woods, you can.”

Dean imagines the bunker, and everything that happened there. How delighted he was to move in, to have his own room, his man cave, the freaking TV that zapped them into Scooby-World. But also all the people that died there. The hunters from Apocalypse World. How he and Sam almost died in there.

The cell with the huge devil's trap, where the Empty took Cas.

He gulps.

No daylight and garden out back.

“I don't think I want to live in the bunker again,” Dean says, eventually, scratches the back of his neck. “What would I do with all those books, now that there's no more monsters to hunt. Or could I imagine them into existence too?”

Cas eyes him carefully, like he knows there's more to it. “You probably could, if that was really what your heart desired. Some hunters have done it, imagined their last hunt, surviving it instead of being killed. It's their way to reconcile with their death.”

“Mh,” Dean hums, then thinks about vampires with cheap clown masks and shakes his head. “No, I'm good.”

For a few moments, they are quietly munching on bacon and sausages, sharing the only fork Dean brought to shovel scrambled eggs into their mouth – in Dean's case – or taking careful bites of only the soft, big chunks – in Cas' case.

Dean washes it down with the strong, wonderfully aromatic coffee.

“You boys need a refill?” Ellen shouts from the bar, lifting the coffee pot.

Dean looks over into Cas' empty cup, and Cas promptly gets up.

“Hey, could you--” Dean interrupts himself, emptying his mug. “Please,” he adds, handing it to Cas.

With a nod, Cas walks over to Ellen, who fills up their cups.

Dean sighs.

Cas' eyes are on the topped-up mugs, full to the brim, careful not to spill any over his hands. He'd probably not get burned, but surprised. But Cas not looking means Dean can stare at him all he wants – the stubble, the windswept dark hair, broad shoulders, sensible shoes - well, until he notices Ellen's curious gaze from across the room.

“I get it,” Cas sits down, picking up right where they left off. “The bunker may have been your home for quite some time, but there's bad memories too, right?”

“Right,” Dean slurps from the fresh, still hot, coffee, and feels like he's finally and properly waking up. “Though I never assumed I'd have a steady home, so no idea what I'd wish for. Maybe I'll just crash at Ellen's here, until I have a plan. I think I'd like to build something on my own.”

Cas hides a smile behind his cup. “I can see you doing that.”

To be fair, Dean is pretty much full, but there's still bacon and this easy conversation is definitely better with something crunchy between his teeth. “Do _you_ have a place?” Dean asks, on a whim, simply curious. “Where do you stay?”

Cas hesitates. “I'm always... somewhere. But since sometimes, other angels seek me out or, certain humans who know where 'my place' is, I actually do have a place, yes.”

For once, Dean finishes his mouthful of eggs and bacon, washes it down with coffee, before he winks, “Am I 'certain humans'?”

“You surely are one particular human, so to speak,” Cas mumbles, an amused scrunch to his nose.

Dean grins. “So can I see it?”

Cas nods. “When do you want to go?”

“It's not like I have any plans for anything anytime soon, so. Right now?”

“Okay,” Cas says. “I assume you want to drive there? It's not far.”

“How long have you known me?”

“That's why I assumed,” Cas replies, gravely, to hide the snark.

Dean laughs, gets the keys for the Impala out of his jacket. “Let's go.”

“Stay safe, boys,” Ellen waves from the counter.

“Later, Ellen,” Dean grins when he puts their dishes onto the bar. “Thanks for breakfast.”

***  
  
The ride to Cas' place is much like the road Dean drove down the day before. Lots of dust, enclosed by forest. Mountains to the side, a lonely, peaceful road.

“Where are we, anyway?” Dean asks.

“The countryside of Kansas.”

“And it's all hunters here?” 

“A lot of them show up here. It's part of the concept that Jack had in mind. Group like-minded people with similar experiences and skills, so they find a sense of community. It works brilliantly so far.”

Dean hums and follows the directions Cas gives, until he's rolling down a narrow road in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and the driveway leads to a generic, two story house with a wide view down the hillside and a garden out back. The surface of still water, a lake, blinks at them through the trees, not far away.

“You like gardening?” Dean teases. “On you knees, getting your hands dirty?”

“Yes, it's peaceful,” Cas nods, not biting.

Dean only loves him more for it. Taking none of his shit, that's Cas.

“There's also a bee hive in the backyard.”

Dean laughs. “Of course there is.”

When he pulls up, Cas looks pointedly at the garage, which opens on command. “You can park in here.”

“Why do you even have a garage if you don't have a car?” Dean huffs, more amused than irritated, and when he puts the Impala into park and kills the engine, he finds Cas – almost bashfully – looking down at his hands in his lap.

“I figured it would be used,” is all he says before he opens the door and gets out.

Dean follows. There's a workbench and quite some handy machinery he appreciates and will probably used to overhaul Baby a bit. She could need some touch-ups.

As they head into the house through the side door, Dean feels an odd sense of deja-vu. The layout of the house seems familiar, and it's not until he sees the kitchen that he recognizes it.

“This is Bobby's house. Minus the salvage yard.” 

“Yes, although a bit more polished,” Cas shrugs, leans against the kitchen counter.

“How come?” Dean smirks, flops down on the old, worn couch that he's spent more than one night on.

Because he will never have any sense of personal space, Cas squeezes in next to his feet. “Good memories,” he answers to the ceiling.

“So I guess most people just will their old house back into existence?” 

Cas nods. “Most of them, yes.”

“I'm kind of surprised heaven isn't littered with castles and mansions,” Dean muses.

“They're huge and lonely. People prefer what they know.”

“And even angels rather have a kitchen and not eat, than have an empty house. Though this place is a bit big for you alone, too, right?”

“It's the way it turned out to be. My subconscious shaped it.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him, shifts his feet on the armrest so Cas can lean against his shins.

With a sigh, Cas explains, “You can have everything you want here, but the greater mechanics at work here will tap into your subconscious. So when you imagine your house, things that you hate but would never admit to will be taken care of. There's also two little factors. Whatever you wish for and materialize here, it has... let's call it, an element of your true desires. And it will not appear out of spite.”

“So I can't just make up a bigger mansion to spite my neighbor,” Dean states. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

“So your subconscious wanted a home for the Impala, and Bobby's old house out of nostalgia and comfort, and spare rooms for Sam to stay over once he's here?” Dean asks.

Cas tilts his head, avoids Dean's eyes. “Apparently. Would you have done anything different?”

“You know, my knee-jerk reaction was a little cabin in the woods, but then I remembered that time we hid from the Leviathans--”

“Rufus' cabin,” Cas throws in, still not meeting Dean's eyes.

And Dean can still see him, sitting on the stairs in the white clothes from the mental hospital, the trench coat looking out of place and lost, a shadow of the mighty angel he once was.

“No good memories there, either,” Cas voices his thoughts.

“Nope.”

“Still, it wouldn't need to be that.”

Dean gets up, rolls to his feet. “I like this. I little rugged, a little worn. Cozy.”

He looks out into the hallway, and something is off, so he points at the door across the hall that definitely was not there last time he checked.

“Did the staircase to the second floor just... vanish?” Dean frowns.

Cas nods. “Yes. The house became smaller.”

“Why? Did you--”

“I didn't do anything,” Cas looks past Dean through the window above the kitchen sink, his expression unreadable. “We also have a hot tub in the back yard now.”

Whirling around, Dean sees it too, right at the edge of the porch. “Huh. Wait, we? The collective We?”

“Well, if I didn't influence this shift in the house, you did,” Cas explains, not meeting Dean's eyes as a toothy smile slowly works its way onto his lips.

“But this is not my place, it's yours,” Dean throws his hands outwards in an exaggerated shrug, not sure what to do with this information.

“Apparently, it's not _only_ mine.”

The smile turns wistful, knowing, confident. Nowhere near as happy and blinding as... then. But it makes Dean want to do something. On a whim, he grabs the trench coat at Cas' elbow.

“So this is _our_ place?” Dean's voice breaks, inevitably, at the 'our'.

“Yes,” Cas grins, staring at Dean's hand at his elbow, then up at him, then back down, as if he can't believe it.

“Why are you grinning like a loon?” Dean finally breaks into a laugh. Cas' happiness is contagious.

For a moment, their eyes lock, and Cas opens and closes his mouth around words that don't quite make it.

“What?” Dean tugs at the fabric in his hand. “Spill it.”

“You see, theoretically, everybody has their own place in heaven,” Cas begins, then huffs out a laugh. “As you know, soulmates always shared, even before Jack's rework. Now, everybody can share a place, but that requires both parties to-- how do I put this.”

Dean shrugs. Isn't it kind of simple? “Want to live together?”

Cas shoots him a look from the corner of his eyes. “Yes, and no. This is not one of those decisions that you can make on a whim. Remember what I said earlier? It needs to be a true desire, a subconscious wish, and it needs to be real. This... status almost never gets revoked. When you share a place in heaven, it's not a matter of looking for a new roommate when you want to move out.”

“You tellin' me we're an old married couple?” Dean blurts out. “Or that Jack is fucking with us?”

Cas laughs, a low rumbling in his chest. “Maybe. Something like that.”

Dean leans his hip against the small table in the kitchen, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and Cas deflates, too. With both hands at the sink behind him, he watches Dean carefully.

Dean snorts. “You know, this scene-- kind of familiar.”

Cas tilts his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“This. Remember, a few nights after we met in the barn, you came to Bobby's house at night and gave me a lecture on how angels are warriors, no fluffy wings and halos?”

Cas blinks at him, then says, “You called me a 'dick with wings' and threatened to kick my ass. How could I forget.”

And Dean can't help but chuckle, running his hands over his face. “And you were full of all that righteous bullcrap, holy smokes. That's so funny in hindsight.”

“What's so funny about that?” Cas frowns.

“Because back then, I didn't know you were a huge dork,” Dean grins, takes that step towards Cas to close the gap that separates them. It's inevitable to talk about this, them, and he should start somewhere. 

Cas quirks a Sam-esque eyebrow at him. Dean can't quite believe that this is his life – well after-life – now.

“Listen, Cas, I didn't-- when you died,” Dean begins, looks up at the ceiling. He should've thought about what to say before he threw himself into this head-first. Then again, old habits die hard. He tries to compose himself, sort his thoughts.

“Which time?” Cas' lips twitch. _The little shit._

“About the third time? Which one was that? Lucifer's snap or Leviathans?” Dean pretends to ponder. “Seriously, I stopped counting. I meant the last one.”

Still that amused, fond tone. “I thought as much.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Just so you know, I didn't forget what you said, and we need to talk about the elephant in the room--”

“I don't see any elephants.”

Dean licks his dry lips and tries to ignore that last one. “Listen, about this... thing. Between us, I. Um.”

Cas blinks, but doesn't break eye contact this time. “I know this goes against every aspect of your personality and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Dean. So I was merely trying to-”,  _air quotes,_ “'lighten the mood.'”

Dean looks at him, really looks at him, then. His fingers are trailing the edge of the counter and he avoids Dean's eyes, which he rarely does. His legs cross and uncross in front of him. Cas is fidgeting.

_Nerves,_ Dean realizes. “You're worried about my answer.”

Cas sighs. “Yes. Knowing you for as long as I have, I was sure you wouldn't--” he turns away, stares out the window. “I know what you said. But I knew what would happen if you returned the sentiment. And it did.”

The pressure on Dean's ribcage suddenly triples, and he doesn't know what to say. Words seem too small to encompass what they've been through, have lived and witnessed and died for. Words are too little to say what Cas means to him.

Cas has been at his side through good times and bad times, 'till death do us part.' And concerning that, not even literal deaths could part them.

“When you died, the first of I-don't-know-how-many-times,” Dean starts again, notices that his boots are almost toe-to-toe with Cas' dress shoes. “It was horrible, but it got worse, every time. First, I lost an ally, a brother in arms, and then I lost a friend, and then a friend who did stupid shit and I didn't even care because he left a huge fucking hole in my life, and then even a best friend. And when I realized that death never quite stuck with either one of us, I got both more worried and more cocky. I knew you'd be back. Until you weren't. Don't think I didn't try to bust you out. I begged Jack, but I had no proof he actually did, so I--” Dean remembers sleepless nights at the bunker, hunched over books, a stupid lie on his lips when Sam asked the next day if he got any sleep and what he was doing. “I tried to find a way, to get you out. Then I tried to cope, and it only ended in this merciless, haunting feeling that I _had_ to be happy, now, because we're done with heaven and hell and apocalypses.”

“I'm sorry,” Cas says, rueful.

“Don't be. The things you said before you--” Dean steadies himself, rubs a hand over his mouth. He hates this emotional crap but when he looks at Cas, pupils a dark spark within those stupidly beautiful, vulnerable blue irises, when he sees how insecure he is, after everything, he knows it's not fair to not address the... thing.

Dean starts again. “What you said, I took it to heart as best as I could. It helped a lot to accept that my... love for others sometimes has destructive consequences. But you were right, and I needed to hear that. And what can I say, we won because you saved me.”

“Jack was adamant about not interfering in human lives any more. I was busy helping him, but when I felt that tug on your soul, when I knew you'd be here, I was begging him to open the doors of heaven, just this once, to let me heal you,” Cas huffs, obviously upset. “And when that was off the table, I didn't know who else to turn to, so I told Mary that you would be here soon, and told her what I've seen and how furious I was that this was the death you'd get, way too soon and because of a piece of rebar--” 

“Cas, I died hunting. I saved people. It's nothing I didn't know would inevitably happen one day. I was good,” Dean reassures him. “I'm fine with it.”

“Still. I'm sorry.”

“You don't need to be. And now stop getting me off track,” Dean pokes his chest, laughs at the offended look on Cas' face. “When you were just info-dumping all these... feelings on me and I couldn't _handle_ it with everything that was going on. Listen, I know people – well, if you count Crowley and Meg and those other angels as _people_ – have been teasing me for years about you, but it's not like I ever gave it a serious thought. I'm an idiot, ok, that's not news. I thought about all the other stuff, getting you out, hunting to distract myself, I thought about how I needed to learn to enjoy life or your sacrifice would've been worth jack-shit. Which, ok, let's never say that again.”

Cas muffles a laugh behind his pursed lips.

“And before I lose that track of thought, too, because – stop laughing, Cas,” Dean grins. “All I wanted to tell you is, I know what we said. But I need time to cope. Ok?”

“No,” Cas replies, one eyebrow high on his forehead, one edge of his lip curving up.

Dean blinks. “What, 'No'?”

“No, I won't stop laughing, because we finally can have this,” Cas grins. “You're here now. We have a place, together. That's enough for me.”

Dean can't with him, any more. Can't look at him, can't listen to this self-depreciating... whatever it is that Cas does. Always so humble and putting himself last.

The truth is, part of him hoped that Cas would cut the red tape. All he does, though, is be so understanding and respectful. Never pushing Dean, not in these matters.

He goes in for another hug, steps right into Cas' space and wraps his arms around his neck. He doesn't have words any more, for what he feels, at least none that he hasn't already used in very different situations.  _I need you, it's good to have you back, you're family, welcome home._

And Dean does feel a lot, hugging Cas. He rests his head at Cas' shoulder and feels his heart hammering away in his chest. He smells fresh air, wet grass after a summer rain, and the generic laundry detergent of Cas' coat and his fingertips itch with the need to touch. He feels Cas' hands at his spine, pulling him closer, he feels the stubble of Cas' beard against his own. It's only weird until Dean reminds himself it's Cas. The guy that literally followed him to hell and back.

“Cas, I'm figuring this out, I promise. I will,” his voice sounds small and hoarse, even muffled against Cas' shoulder and neck.

“Can I help you with that?” Cas offers.

“Just,” Dean leans back, finds Cas turning his head towards him, and their noses bump. They both can't help but share a tiny smile, and Dean's heart races when his eyes focus on Cas' lips for a moment too long. He could, probably. Cas would not blow him to Timbuktu for kissing him. _Well, maybe the other kind of blowing,_ Dean's dirty mind provides and oh, hell no, he is so not ready to think about that yet. Dean wrenches the rest of the sentence out without self-imploding, somehow. “Keep being you. You deserve so much more than this. And I'll do everything I can to make this a heaven you deserve, too.”

And for experimental purposes, Dean trails his fingers down Cas' jawline, down to that tempting set of lips, but the stubble-- but it's Cas! - but no. Dean drops his hand, takes a step back to get some space between them, to regain his sanity.

His mind is spinning. “Let's check out the rest of the house,” is what he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you still screaming about the Spanish dub because I am and while this took quite a blow to the premise of this story, it will be so much fun to write around. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean and Cas have a breakfast date and move into their house.

Dean finds an empty room in the basement, walls blank and waiting for sheet rock to be fixed to it. He can see himself working here, equipping the room with a TV and a comfy couch, a place to watch movies and play games and hang out with his favorite people. They also find that the house only has one bedroom, and kind of avoid eye contact for a few moments after that realization.

The garden out back opens up down the hill, to the lake Dean saw earlier, and he can't wait to go fishing there.

They sit down on the porch swing together, and Dean tips his boot against the floor.

He was never aware that a porch swing was on his list of must-haves, but maybe it's one of those subconscious things. Or, Dean reminds himself, looking at the angel beside him, a Cas thing. At least, Cas looks very content, sitting here and nodding with the lazy back and forth of the swing.

Dean decides that the porch swing is a few inches too long, and shifts so they sit closer together. Cas meets him in the middle with a hidden smile.

Two beers appear on the table before them.

A squirrel jumps down a tree to the right, where the hills encompass the house, and runs through their garden, undisturbed. A warm breeze ruffles their hair and the leaves of the trees around them.

Dean closes his eyes, relaxes, listens to the sound of Cas' breathing next to him.

He thinks about the squirrel, and a familiar face. “Are there moose here?” 

“No?” Cas answers. “I don't think so.” Then he notices the squirrel, too, and huffs out a laugh. 

Dean pulls one foot under his knee, and it rests easily against Cas' thigh.

This should feel weird, but it doesn't. It isn't.

Cas meets his eyes, leans in and no, it still is not weird.

But the thought of letting himself have this, pull someone holy like an angel into his legacy of corrupting everything he touches, it's still a ways to go.

And yet, Dean wants to make this happen. It just scares the shit out of him.

So he leans his shoulder against Cas' and they enjoy the view for three beers, until the sun is past the worst of the midday heat. They don't talk much, and it's comfortable and relaxed.

When another realization hits Dean, he chuckles. “I really need to get used to this. Not having to worry about a case or things happening to innocent people or whatever.”

“It's an adjustment most humans struggle with when they come to heaven,” Cas nods. “Though I have to get used to it, too.”

“Yeah, well, we will,” Dean reassures him, pats his knee and leaves his hand there.

Cas ducks his head, and Dean feels warmth creep up his neck. And yes, he's still scared, but reassured, too. This thing, it's not one-sided, they both know it. Acting on it, to both of their comfort level, is a tightrope act.

Dean doesn't move his hand.

With a sigh, Cas puts his hand on top of Dean's.

Dean's heart is beating too loud, too fast. An idea strikes him. “If someone would've told me about this like twelve years ago, I'd have lost it.”

“Sharing heaven with me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I did put a blade into your heart within ten seconds of meeting you.”

Cas smiles, lifts his hand, and Dean watches it start to shine, bright and golden, as he feels himself drift off into a different place.

_The barn. A devil's trap in white spray paint on the floor in front of him, the walls warded in every demon-appalling sigil they knew, huge, black letters against worn wood._

_But he's not looking at the entrance, at the huge sliding doors. He watches as Bobby and a younger Dean load rock salt into sawed-offs, and nostalgia tugs at his heart._

_Cas is beside him, head tilted to the side, assessing the situation. They're out of sight, out of ear-shot, in the back of the room, watching from the sidelines._

“ _Are we re-living this? It's just a memory, right?” Dean whispers to Cas._

_Cas nods. “We are not able to interfere. They don't see us.”_

_Dean takes his time to watch, this time. The rumble, bulbs bursting in the lamp shades above, literal sparks flying as Castiel breaks the doors and enters the barn. A huge shadow proceeds him, and younger Dean flinches before he cocks his gun and shoots, as does Bobby._

_Castiel walks straight over the Devil's trap, head tilted down with an irritated frown._

“ _Did I look this intimidating?” his Cas asks, right into his ear._

“ _Obivously? Yes,” Dean answers, puzzled. “Why?”_

“ _This is a conjoined memory of you and me. This is how you remember seeing me and I remember seeing you.”_

“ _Ah”, Dean nods. “Well yes, I was scared shitless, not gonna lie.”_

_Younger Dean and Castiel are talking now._

“ _I look like a scared... squirrel,” Dean mutters, can't help but smirk at his own demeanor._

“ _'I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition',” Cas says alongside his younger version._

_Dean's heart feels too big in his chest, too full with emotion. “That line. Damnit, Cas.”_

“ _It was a matter of fact, Dean,” Cas leans against him, now._

_They fall silent as they watch the scene unfold. Lightning flashes as Castiel shows his impressive wings._

“ _Don't get too attached to those,” Dean stage-whispers into his Cas' ear._

_Cas laughs, a low rumble in his chest. “Thanks for that,” he replies, “It took you, what, a year until I was falling because of you?”_

“ _Was it a year?” Dean smirks, attaches a little wink for good measure. “Damn, my game was off.”_

_Cas tips his chin up._

“ _Good things do happen, Dean.” - “Not in my experience.”_

“ _We were so in over our heads,” Dean states, watching themselves circle each other, weary, jumpy, naive. “What would you want to tell that Cas, if you could?”_

_Cas' nostril flare as he takes a deep breath. “I'm torn. I'm tempted to tell him that he just met the most important person in his life, and that he should be careful. That it will hurt and that he will get hurt, but that they will be happy one day. I'm also tempted to tell him to hit on you first thing, so those two don't have to wait twelve years to get to where we are. What would you tell your younger self?”_

“ _'Good things do happen, Dean,'” Dean reiterates, and Cas turns to him in wonder. “It's exactly what I needed to hear. Though I do think there's no shortcut to this--” Dean motions between the two of them, their connection, their friendship, the fact that this thing between them started that night in that barn. With an innocent Dean being told that maybe the best thing that could ever happen to him just happened. “I would not have been ready for you to hit on me, here.”_

“ _Although I did, in a way.”_

“ _In a very cosmic-being, no-sense-of-personal-space, kinda way, yes,” Dean leans against the table next to Cas, and because they're already having a moment, he wraps his hand around Cas' waist, pulls him close. With a blink and a carefully hidden smile, Cas looks up at him, daring, almost hopeful._

“ _Since we're already walking down memory road,” Dean breaks eye contact, his neck tingling and his ears feeling hot at the tips. “I never told you about this.”_

_The scene changes, and Uriel pops up. “Castiel? Oh, he's... He's not here. You see, he has this weakness. He likes you.”_

_Cas' eyes go wide._

“ _And this,” Dean sighs._

_Balthazar. “The one in the dirty trench coat, who's in love with you?”_

_Naomi. “When Castiel laid a hand on you in hell, he was lost!”_

“ _That reminds me. I've got one, too,” Cas says, and interrupts the scene._

_Demon #342. “And how is it that you lost Dean? I thought you two were joined at the... everything.”_

_Dean blinks, “Did he just...?”_

_Another scene change. Cas seems surprised, even though it's clearly one of his memories._

“ _You have to choose, Castiel,” Naomi orders. “Us, or them.”_

_They're in the crypt, Dean on his knees, his face bloody, swollen and bruised to a pulp. Cas has his angel blade in the air and is holding Dean's broken hand with the other._

“ _We need you. I need you,” Dean barely gets the two short sentences out, a man, broken and hurt, mentally and physically._

_That's when the connection snaps._

Dean takes Cas' hand, then, and they're back on the back porch in heaven. The memories fade behind Dean's inner eye, and he blinks at Cas in an attempt to process. “You told me you didn't know what broke the connection.”

“I don't know why I--” Cas breaks off, stares into the distance.

“You're an idiot,” Dean smiles.

An eyebrow perks up high on Cas' forehead. “Uriel died very soon after that. You and me, we knew each other for barely a few weeks. And he already took note of my... feelings. And you are saying that I'm the idiot?”

“Yeah, maybe we both are.”

For a long while, Cas plays with Dean's fingers in his hand, trails his fingertips along the tendons and up to their tips and short nails, down to the palm, traces old scars and healed tears and cuts. Dean lets him. The little touches are both reassuring, tickling and intimate, in a way. Cas is mapping out his life line down to the heel of his hand and back up, bumps his fingers over the callouses. It's his right hand. The one he punches, shoots, stabs with - those callouses are not from woodworking. And yet, he's so tender and careful, like he's taking in the life Dean lived by the traces it left on his palm.

“Since when?” Dean asks, and he feels so stupid asking, and he feels stupid for his heart racing and his stomach fluttering. There's no need to be nervous.

It's Cas.

And Cas takes a deep breath, laces his fingers through Dean's, squeezes once. “I don't remember when I realized it. But in hindsight, I was... irked. When Anna kissed you.”

“Oh?” And Dean swallows around the lump in his throat, because that is early.

“Physical affection is not something that angels share, as you're aware. I thought the feeling, this discomfort I felt, was because I was irritated by this public display which was so foreign to me. It was part of a first clue. I didn't know then.”

A smirk works its way onto Dean's lips, and he rubs his thumb over the heel of Cas' hand. “Oh my god, you were so jealous.”

Cas shrugs. “I was.”

Dean laughs, and then he remembers Meg. He remembers Cas and what he learned from the pizza man, he remembers her look afterwards. He also remembers her jab at him, “He was your boyfriend first.” As in, before the pizza man incident. Maybe he shouldn't dish out too much Schadenfreude there.

Before they can get deeper into this, Dean's stomach rumbles audibly. “We haven't eaten since breakfast. I'd say we head over to the Roadhouse, grab a bite?”

“Actually,” Cas muses. “Why don't you go alone for now, I'll just do a quick round to check that everything is alright. I'll get back to you later?”

“Sure,” Dean says, and kisses Cas' temple as he gets to his feet.

It's not like he decides to do it consciously. It just happens, as a way of a goodbye, as easy as breathing. One of the things you just do when you're... with somebody. The flare lighting Dean's insides on fire and making his heart skip is a whole other thing entirely, though.

Cas' eyes go wide in surprise, but then he smiles and holds on to Dean's hand as he steps around him, towards the back door. Fingers fall apart and Dean misses the touch, and when he looks over his shoulder as he opens the back door, he shoots Cas a wink.

And Cas looks away.

Dean doesn't need to check to know that he's feeling shy and is probably hiding a fond smile.

A flutter of wings tells him Cas is gone, so he gets his jacket, the keys of the Impala, and gets her on the road.

***  
  
The Impala provides him with a conveniently placed bag of chips on the passenger seat, so Dean takes his time and enjoys the drive. He already figured that distances don't matter, here, not really. If he wanted to be at the Roadhouse in two minutes, he'd be there. If he enjoys the drive, he can take hours, just following the road where it takes him.

The feeling doesn't wear off on him, going where he wants to whenever he wants to, Led Zeppelin blaring from the speakers so loud he can't hear his own voice over it, only the deep purr of the engine following him when he rolls the windows down. It's liberating, it's freedom. It's literal heaven.

When he reaches Harvelle's in the early evening, it's only half-full, people eating and laughing, bottles clinking.

Ellen waves at him from behind the counter, puts a beer in front of him and says. “Sit. You hungry?”

“What's for dinner?” Dean grins, takes a sip.

“Lasagna,” Ellen looks at Jo in the kitchen, nods once. “Where's your angel?”

“Maintenance run.”

“Ah,” Ellen nods, then goes back to the drying rack of clean, but wet glasses. Her expression is unreadable, but it probably doesn't matter.

Dean enjoys his peace and quiet, enjoys his food, scarves down a second helping, too. His beer is empty when he grabs both the empty dish and the bottle, putting it in the empty crate under the counter and the dish into the kitchen sink.

“Getting comfy around here, huh,” Ellen teases him with a wink as he grabs another beer for himself from the fridge.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to--”

“Nah, don't sweat it.”

“I just... like this, I guess. Part of me always wanted to hang up my boots as a hunter and open a bar somewhere,” he chuckles, hides his smile behind the neck of the bottle.

“You know, if you want,” Ellen gestures at the bar. “We could use another set of helping hands here on the weekends.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow at her. “I'd like that.”

“Cool,” Ellen pats his shoulder. “Ash and Bobby don't help out much, you know. Ash doesn't like the crowd. Which is okay, of course. Bobby is, well, Bobby. And Jo and I, we like doing this, and when people get tired they will their drinks into existence, anyway, but that's not the point of a bar, is it? It's all about the experience.”

“What about Bobby?” Dean perks up.

“That grouchy son of a bitch wouldn't sell shit even if we charged anything or paid him,” Ellen rolls her eyes fondly. “He'd rather watch Jeopardy or hang out with Rufus,” she adds with a nod towards the corner where Dean noticed the two yesterday as well, “but they're like an old married couple. I don't hear the end of it when they fight until they kiss and make up again.”

Wondering what this is about, he catches Ellen smiling at her left hand where a simple ring glimmers in the dim light.

“You and he...?” Dean points at Ellen, at her hand, at Bobby, doesn't know where to look first. He knew they always were close, even if they were married to other people during their lifetime.

“Married, yes. Just a small thing up here.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “Yeah, I wondered, since back down on earth, you guys weren't.”

“If it makes you happy, you can always catch up with these things,” Ellen confirms what Dean didn't quite want to ask. “We had a small little service, Rufus officiated, and then we all got stupidly drunk in here.”

Dean laughs at that.

What that implication means for him, and Cas, though. He can't quite wrap his head around it and the idea is still so out there, in his mind. He shoves it aside.

“By the way,” Ellen interrupts his thoughts, bless her. “You should take a look into Ash' room.”

“Why?”

“Tuesdays are LAN party nights.”

“What now?”

Ellen shoos him out from behind the bar. “Just go.”

When Dean knocks, there's a suspicious pause before Ash shouts, “Who's there?”

 _Please, no, what am I walking into,_ Dean thinks in amusement but answers. “It's Dean.”

Another suspicious pause.

The door opens and a round of “Surprise!” is Dean's only warning before a familiar redhead throws herself into his arms.

“Charlie!” he cheers, and laughs, loud and happy, as he wraps both arms around her tiny shoulders, squishes her against his chest. “So good to see you!”

“Hi, Dean,” she buries her head in his shoulder, then leans back. “You too. It's been a while! Come on in.”

“What are you--” Dean begins when he sees Kevin on the couch beside Ash. “Oh, hey Kev!”

“Welcome to heaven, Dean, grab a controller, we're playing Fortnight,” Kevin grins back at him.

They spend the next half hour giving Dean a short tutorial, then another hour to get through three frustrating, short games, before they decide to switch games.

“You're a dinosaur, Dean,” Charlie punches his shoulder. “Friggin' no-skinner.”

“What, it's not like I ever had time for these things?” Dean tries to defend himself.

Ash puts his can of beer aside and jumps to his feet. “I got an idea. How about this?” He steps over a few boxes to the shelf behind the TV, pulls out an old Nintendo 64 and a cartridge.

“Oh, hell yes,” Charlie pumps her fist. “Mario Party 3. Such a classic. RIP your controllers, though.”

Kevin just wears a shit-eating grin. “I propose a drinking game,” he says, and Ash and Charlie groan. “Minigame losers drink, coin losses of any kind, too.”

“What have I gotten myself into,” Dean mumbles into his beer.

“Alright, I'll get the drinks,” Ash says, then adds on his way out, “You two, get Dean up to speed.”

Charlie hooks up the system while Kevin untangles the controllers. Playing with cable-bound controllers means they have to pile up in front of the TV, Kevin and Charlie on the sofa, Ash lounging on his side on one elbow, Dean sitting cross-legged beside him on the floor. The principle is pretty easy and to absolutely no one's surprise, they all get very competitive about the simplest minigames.

Dean loses track of time as they play round after round. He's not even half bad at it, but Kevin is already down for the count after two rounds. “Lightweight,” Ash laughs and heaves him over to his bed, dumps him on the unmade duvet.

With a snort, Kevin goes right back to sleep.

“So, how have you been doing?” Dean asks Charlie while Ash hits the bathroom after round no. 4. She slides down the edge of the sofa to sit next to him.

“You know, organizing a few LARPing events here and there, but mostly I've been hanging out and enjoying the fact that I can play through a whole night without repercussions. I finally get to play all the games in my Steam library! Do you have any idea how many I bought at the sales events and never got around to actually downloading because – well, work and hunting and having a life.”

Dean grins. “That sounds great.”

“You can always come visit, you know. Most people know I'm not into socializing too much and leave me alone, but, you - feel free to drop by whenever.”

With a nod, Dean wraps his arm around her shoulders. She tucks right in under his chin, and Dean realizes he has missed her like a limb. Even after all this time, it's like they've seen each other only yesterday.

Charlie sits back, pokes his ribs. “How about you? What happened? I heard about God and Jack and what you did, but after that?”

“Got offed by a vamp,” Dean shrugs.

“Lost the plot armor?”

Dean blinks at her. “Yes, so to speak. Once we weren't Chuck's heroes any more, well. You know the rest.”

“And Cas?” Charlie asks, trying her damnest to look innocent but failing spectacularly.

Dean suppresses a smirk. “What about him?” _He sounds... dreamy,_ Charlie had once said, and thinking about Cas now, Dean feels all mushy inside.

It's Charlie's turn to shrug, and her hair falls into her eyes when she mumbles. “I was just wondering, about you two. You only met him here in heaven once everything was over, right?”

“Yeah.”

Charlie smirks behind her curtain of hair. “So...?”

“What, 'so?'?”

“Do I really need to spell this out for you, Dean?”

As a matter of fact, Dean has no idea what she is talking about. There's the thought that she's suggesting what everyone else is suggesting, what everyone has held over their heads, since forever _._ But she's one of his best friends, she knows him, she knows Cas. She wouldn't ask just to wind him up. And she's gay.

Maybe that's the point.

Who else would he ask, anyway?

Dean picks at the label of his bottle, doesn't meet her eyes. He hasn't told anyone about this, not even Sam, and he probably would and will tell Sam, but Sam is not here, so. “He sacrificed himself to save me, when it all went down with God. It was--” he huffs, shifts his feet under himself. “A lot, all at once. We were trapped in the bunker. No way out, none, Death chasing us. And then he... To add to all _that_ going on out there, he tells me he made a deal, with the Empty, to take him once he experiences true happiness.”

“Don't tell me,” Charlie hides her grin behind her hand, almost squealing. She's almost too excited about this.

With a tilt of his head and a frown, Dean shakes his head. “What?”

“Did he confess to you?”

Dean pauses. “How did you know?”

“It just fits, for you two. You're both way too stubborn for your own good. To be literally at Death's door, that's the only way either one of you would ever have admitted it. Am I wrong?”

“Not really, no,” Dean huffs, smiles. “Among other things, he, uh. Dropped the L-word. And I was speechless, you know, stunned. It came completely out of nowhere. And then the Empty took him and Billy.”

“Oh, Dean,” with a sigh, Charlie bumps her shoulder into his. “Oh wow.”

“Mhm,” Dean hangs his head, tips it against hers.

“How did you feel after that?”

“Like shit. Like I'd missed every opportunity ever without even knowing about it. And I missed my best friend, obviously. It was a rough time after that. Tried to get him out, found nothing. Death was a release, to be honest. I couldn't just... function like that for 40 more years.”

They wallow in comfortable silence for a while. Dean wonders if Ash fell asleep on the toilet, but he probably got held up talking to Ellen or someone else.

“So, can I ask – are you okay with it? I mean, you were very much into the ladies back then. I don't think I'm going out on a limb here if I assume you had some trouble adjusting.”

Once again, Dean can only look at her and wonder if he's always been such an open book to her. “Still am, actually. Have I always been so easy to read for you?”

“Takes one to know one,” Charlie says, nudges his elbow. “You think it was easy for me, coming out?”

“Tell me.”

“The struggle, before that. To grow up, always feeling different, not quite fitting the norm. I guess it's easier, being bisexual, you could always conform to what was expected.”

“Woah, hold up.”

Charlie quirks an eyebrow at him. “Ah, not there yet? Ok, no labels, got it. But yes, took me years to go out there and confidently say I'm a lesbian.”

“The thing is, I'm not even into dudes,” Dean states, shakes his head, thinks about blue eyes and plush lips and stubble and short dark hair. The sudden urge to go find him or pray to him strikes Dean, but he shakes it off.

Another eyebrow from Charlie. “You sure? Because if I remember the books, there was quite some flirting going on from your part.”

“Casework. Whatever gets the job done,” Dean brushes it off.

Charlie sighs. “You can pass it off as part of what makes you a good hunter and con-man. I guess. But think about why it comes as natural to you as it does.”

Dean ponders.

“And even if that's the case. You don't need to use a label. The Kinsey scale is a spectrum. Maybe you're just a one on the scale, almost exclusively straight. Almost. Which is fine, too.”

“Yeah, maybe, whatever,” Dean empties his beer, puts the bottle aside. “All I know at this point, and Cas knows it too, is, well. When he told me that he, um, that he--”

“... Loves you?” Charlie provides.

Dean rubs his forehead. Really, he's a grown man, he should get used to this sometime soon. “When he told me that he loves me, I told him, me too. That's when the portal opened.”

Charlie just about screeches, grabs his shoulder and shakes him. “No way! Oh, I'm so proud of you.”

That's when a flutter of wings interrupts them, and when Dean checks over his shoulder, he finds Cas on the sofa behind him. Elation spreads in his chest. “Heya, Cas,” he greets him with a lopsided smile, and scoots back, leans his shoulder against Cas' knee. “Everything alright?”

“Heaven is perfectly fine, yes,” Cas nods, leaning forward to lay his hand on Dean's shoulder, right where his neck begins, and squeezes. The touch is weird, in a place like this, in a semi-public setting. But it calms Dean down, makes his stomach tingly. “Hello, Charlie.”

“Hi, Castiel,” Charlie waves with a subsequent shit-eating grin at Dean. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Cas answers.

“So tell me, if heaven is like a conjoined sandbox game on different levels, which I assume it is because how else would it fit that many souls and their respective places, is it like a Minecraft map code that puts every soul on a spawn point or... what?”

Dean smiles to himself, listens to Charlie and Cas discussing the inner workings of heaven and its setup. Soon after Dean has stopped listening to the theoretic monstrosity that was Jack's rework, and only focused on Cas' warmth beside him, Ash returns. He takes one look at Cas, hears two sentences from Charlie and dives head-first into the debate without saying hello or commenting Dean's position on the floor.

It's all so normal. Comfortable. Dean lets his eyes fall shut.

“Do you wanna go home, Dean?” Cas asks him, fingertips at his jaw, as Dean blinks awake some time later.

“Yeah, let's go home, Cas,” Dean tips his head against Cas' knee, giving his fingers some more access to his neck. “Too sleepy to drive, though. Zap us?”

“You share a place?” Charlie asks.

“Mmhm,” Dean mumbles to confirm. He only sees Ash giving them a nonplussed look.

So normal. Expected.

“Good night,” Cas tips his head to the two, and when Dean blinks the next time, he's in bed, in an old soft shirt and his boxer briefs.

Cas stands beside the bed, fully clothed.

Dean's eyes are already drooping shut because he is damn tired and it's probably in the early morning hours, who knows. But he can't have Cas stand there all night.

“Rest with me?” is what he gets out.

“If you want.”

“I do.”

The king-sized bed is more than enough for both of them, and Cas – mirroring Dean – snap-changes into a plain white tee and checkered, wide boxers.

“Gee, sexy,” Dean snarks, can't help it.

Cas gives him the stink eye before he gets under the cover.

Dean doesn't think about it, refuses to. So he rolls over, throws a knee over Cas' thighs, burrows in against his shoulder and says, “'night, Cas.”

The world turns conveniently black after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're getting there, those idiots. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! And now I'm on to the next one.  
> Let me know what you think :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: A walk down memory lane and game night at the Roadhouse with Charlie, Kevin & Ash, heart-to-hearts with Charlie included.

When was the last time he woke up with someone in his bed? No idea.

Dean breathes through the reflex of jumping up, of reaching under his pillow for his Colt.

When was the last time he trusted someone so inherently who was not his brother?

Dean breathes.

Clean sheets, sweat, residue of hair wax and a hint of aftershave tickle his nose. His cheek is wet, probably from drooling in his sleep onto the shirt underneath his face.

He blinks awake into the twilight of the early morning sun glimpsing into their bedroom.

Right. Their house, their bedroom.

Cas' eyes are closed and his breath is even. He's on his back, head tilted to the side, facial features relaxed and at peace. It's rare, seeing him like this.

When has Cas ever trusted someone as inherently as he trusts Dean?

Dean smiles against Cas' soft t-shirt.

He's in that weird state where he kind of needs to take a leak but it's not  _that_ urgent. Plus, Dean doesn't want to untangle himself from Cas just yet. So he buries his nose in the wet spot on Cas' shirt, closes his eyes again and shifts a bit closer to line their bodies up. 

To his surprise, he finds out that it doesn't feel nearly as alienating as he feared it would.

It's Cas, after all.

And Dean loves Cas.

It's this part where they both struggle. Cas because he's his usual, awkward angel self, and Dean because intimacy scares him on principle.

Dean allows himself to think about it. Given some adjustment time, he will get used to waking up like this every morning. With Cas in his arms, or himself in Cas'. They'd share languid kisses, maybe some morning sex – and it takes Dean a conscious effort to imagine Cas sliding down his body, wrapping his lips around his cock, swallowing him down, Dean's hand in his hair until he comes down the back of his throat.

His ribcage feels on fire, his heart racing at the thought. He's hard in his boxer briefs, his dick a chubby line against Cas' thigh under the covers. Dean tries to shift away but only manages some teenager-level frottage and suppresses a groan.

There go his concerns about whether he'd even be able to get it up for Cas.

And maybe Charlie is right and he is somewhere low on the Kinsey scale. Has to be, right?

What he feels is one thing – this huge, undeniable love for Cas, as a person, as a significant other in his life. The doubt if he could ever have this, if he could ever be...  _that_ for an  _angel_ who's way out of his league.

'The one thing I want... it's something I know I can't have.'

Cas' words ring in his ears. Thinking about it is, to Dean's relief, a moment killer to his physical reaction.

They always had each other. And Dean can finally allow himself to breathe, to enjoy this, to touch and to openly love. He just needs to cope.

Cas sniffles in his sleep and it's adorable, and Dean shifts to lie more on top of him, one knee wedged between Cas', his head at his shoulder, his arm slung around Cas' middle.

This, this feels right.

He falls back asleep.

***  
  
The next time Dean wakes up, it's to Cas carding his fingers idly through the hair at the back of his head and down to his neck. For a long minute, he pretends to be still asleep, only to enjoy the caress of Cas' fingernails on his scalp.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas kisses his forehead. “I know you're awake,” he adds, quiet and amused, lips moving against Dean's skin.

Dean grins against his chest. “Mornin', sunshine.”

“Sleep well?”

Dean is a bit afraid of what he'll see once he opens his eyes, so he doesn't. Just lazily stretches his limbs, yawns into Cas' shoulder as he nods. “You too?”

“Yes,” and there are the fingertips again, scratching and carding and turning Dean into a puddle of goo. “After you... draped yourself all over me, I figured I'd make myself go to sleep, too.”

“Hm, good choice?” Dean yawns again, rubs his nose into the nook where Cas' neck and shoulder meet.

“Worth it,” Cas whispers.

Dean looks up, eyes adjusting to the light flowing through the room. Cas' hair is ruffled, a cowlick sticking up at the side, there's crinkles on his cheek from the pillow, he looks scruffy and like something straight out of a perfume ad. His soft smile and shining blue eyes make Dean evaluate his life choices - and the person he ended up with at his side. He decides that yes, he didn't do half bad.

He's feeling sleepy and bold, so he kisses Cas' jaw. His voice sounds only a little broken when he mumbles, “You know I love you, right?”

Cas hesitates, clearly taken off guard, then ducks his head. It's soft and small and laced with affection when he replies, “I know.”

They're touching, from head to toe, Dean curled into Cas' body, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. Dean wonders if Cas feels how hard his heart beats against his ribs, how his pulse is spiking. Wonders if Cas feels the morning wood barely inches away from his thigh. Their eyes meet, and Dean swallows. The moment lingers, with Cas cupping Dean's cheek, tracing his fingers over Dean's stubble, along his jawline and down his neck. He gets lost in the blue and shudders when Cas' fingers trail over his shoulder and down his spine.

He's hard now, fully there. No use hiding it. Cas, bless him, doesn't comment on it.

All he says is, “Dean,” in that deep, rough voice that had Dean mesmerized from the moment they met.

“Mh,” Dean sighs, lifts up on his elbow, his crotch moving away from Cas' thigh. It's not time, not yet, maybe not for a while.

Cas has an almost debauched look to him that does  _things_ to Dean. Things he can barely think about, even less so act on.

“So what's the plan for today?” Dean tries to change the subject, even though his upper hand inevitably lands on Cas' stomach, right where his shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of skin.

“I don't have plans,” Cas shakes his head.

Dean rolls onto his back or he won't be able to think this through. “Ok, so, first things first, breakfast.”

“Okay,” Cas agrees. “Breakfast.”

“No, wait,” Dean rolls to his feet. “First bathroom, then breakfast.”

Being alone in the bathroom is a moment of sweet relief. Dean is still working his way through everything that happened in those few minutes, in bed with Cas. His head is spinning, both ways, the good and the bad.

He uses the toilet, splashes some water onto his face and brushes his teeth.

When he comes back into the bedroom, there's a tray sitting on the bedding, and Cas leans against the headboard with a mug of coffee cradled in his hands.

“Oh, I didn't realize we're doing breakfast in bed,” Dean comments, surprised, but shrugs. “Not complaining though.”

“You're welcome,” Cas hands him a cup of coffee, and they dig in on a platter of pancakes with syrup and blueberries.

“Damnit, that's good,” Dean nods with his mouth full. “My turn tomorrow, ok?”

During breakfast, they both get lost in their own thoughts. Dean notices Cas staring holes into the pancakes, eyes occasionally focusing on him, then shifting back to his own coffee. Dean looks probably just as shifty, trying to avoid any and all thoughts of what had hit him earlier, when the day was young and Cas was still asleep next to him.

When they're done, they sit back against the headboard and slurp their coffee.

“I could get used to this,” Dean smiles, his foot finding Cas' under the blanket.

His shin is rough with hair, hard with thick muscles. Dean swallows around the lump suddenly lodged in his throat.

“Me too,” Cas admits, voice low and quiet, before he puts his coffee aside and makes deliberate eye contact. “Dean, we should probably talk about this.”

Dean makes a face that has Cas rolling his eyes, but not with annoyance.

“What? This is new for me, too. I need to know where your boundaries are, so I can respect them.”

Dean hums. “I hate it when your arguments have a point,” he grumbles. “But, you know. Same goes for you. You wanna start?”

Cas tilts his head, knowing exactly what Dean did there.

Dean returns the sentiment with his smuggest smile.

“We should probably talk about sex,” Cas decides to start, and Dean almost spits out the mouthful of coffee he just sipped.

“Oh, hell no we don't,” he blurts out between coughs.

Cas... grins at him, the sneaky son of bitch.

Dean puts his coffee aside, too. “Fine. You got me.”

“Sorry. I know you're not there yet.” It's sincere, and a little guilty. 

_Good,_ Dean thinks. “Well, are you?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks softly. “Not sure if you even are interested in sex or... not yet?”

He's never given it much thought, but it's not like he never met an angel with a sex drive. It's not like he doesn't know Cas had sex with April, or that he himself set him up for that, but it still came as a surprise. It's not like he doesn't know there are people not interested in sex at all, though he himself--

Before his mind can spin out of control, Cas interrupts him. “Definitely interested, but unsure of where to start.”

Relief like he rarely experienced washes through Dean like a wave. “Didn't learn that from the pizza man?” he teases.

“Maybe I should do some research,” Cas ponders, tapping his finger to his chin, and Dean facepalms.

“Don't.”

“Why?”

“Just... promise me to not look up gay porn on the internet, please.”

Probably because the thought of gay sex alone makes Dean all hot and bothered. Not even porn, but gay sex. Which, yes, he's somehow, sometime going to have with Cas. Is it gay if it's with a genderless being in a male vessel? Logistics alone are going to be a challenge, though, semantics aside.

“I'm glad,” Dean admits, “To be honest, I can't imagine a relationship without sex. But it's not like I can wrap my head around the whole thing with you already.”

“Around having sex with me?” Cas asks, a bit stiff, a bit irritated.

“Yeah,” Dean laughs under his breath, tries to placate Cas with a hand on his knee. “I've seen you in various vessels and could not imagine you wearing some girl just to do-- _this_ is you, Cas. Jimmy, that's _you._ But he's a guy and that is still a bit weird for me. But as long as you're hesitant, too, we can take our time. I guess.” He frowns. “Wait, why are you? Hesitating?”

And if he's honest with himself, he never gave it much thought why Cas wouldn't want to get into his pants, stat. He passed it off as an angel thing, as something Cas has little to no experience with. Or is only respectful about, not wanting to overwhelm Dean. While he knows where his own problems stem from – a lifetime of being told that being able to charm a hot girl into his bed was what was desirable, a lifetime of not giving guys a second look, but – how did Charlie put it? - naturally being able to flirt his way through a case. A lifetime of running and fighting evil, never stopping for a breather or to get out. Well, once, and look how that turned out.

Cas pats Dean's hand on his knee. “Dean, we've known each other for a long time. We've been through much together, you and I. What I struggle with is less a question of attraction – because I am, attracted to you, that is - but the fact that you've always been a friend and that I want to do this right. Do our history justice, so to speak.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. “You saying you want to sweep me off my feet?”

Cas huffs, rolls his eyes. Dean has to suppress a smile, recognizing where he picked that up. “However you'd like to call it. We've got nothing but time, and I don't plan on rushing.”

“Alright, Swayze,” Dean chuckles. “So you, what, want to take me on a date or what?”

Cas shrugs, a bit smug. It's almost cute, if he weren't a grown man. “I might.”

“Take me home and kiss me goodnight on our doorstep when I ask you up for coffee?” Dean blinks, trying to get that image out of his head again.

“For someone who pretends to not like 'chick-flicks', you're very savvy in the tropes of these movies.”

Dean licks his lips. True, he doesn't quite have a good answer to that. It's just movie tropes, general knowledge, so to speak. But he can't deny that he does look forward to whatever Cas is planning. This feeling, festering, spreading inside of him, the butterflies in his stomach when Cas gets that mischievous glint in his eyes, he wants to relish that. To feel it amplify whenever he touches Cas is an honor and a blessing all at once, and Dean doesn't ever want it to stop.

However, he also really needs to derail this, or else he's going to kiss that smirk right off of Cas' plush lips. Which wouldn't be bad, not per se, but it feels cheap to waste their first kiss on something like that.

Dean leans sideways, whispers right into Cas' ear, “I got hard, this morning, thinking about you waking me with a blowjob,” to see if he can get a rise out of him.

Cas gulps down a huge breath.

Slowly, Dean lets that smirk that threatens to split his lips work its magic.

Cas glares at him, fire in his eyes as he shakes his head. “Dean Winchester, you test me.”

“Always,” Dean throws back, slaps his hand on Cas' thigh. “Alright, I think we're good. Are we?”

With a frustrated groan, Cas drops his head back against the headboard.

Dean takes that as a Yes and goes to examine the contents of their dresser and closet.

He half-expects Cas' side to only have tan trench coats, ten blue ties, and several cheap black suits and part of him would be amused, but for the most part, he'd be disappointed. Honestly, he would really like to see Cas in different clothing – and less layers – for once.

His own closet is as colorful as always, and Dean picks up an olive green button down and a plain black tee underneath. Dark blue jeans are an easy choice, socks, underwear, “I'm gonna hit the shower!” he says, because in three days of heaven, he hasn't showered once.

The water pressure is divine and Dean appreciates that the shower cabin is, theoretically, big enough to fit two grown men. Which is good to know - just in case. He imagines Cas hopping under the shower with him, allows his mind to drift for once. He has to get used to it.

Dean strokes his cock, once, twice, to the thought of Cas, wet and head tilted back under the shower spray. Then his brain gets stuck on the image of Cas having no idea what to do with him here, and it would probably be awkward and someone would hit the faucet and the water would turn cold and that's it for any sexy shower times.

The thing is, that's the exact way Dean can see that happening. With a persistent grin, he washes his hair, enjoys the warm water pounding on his shoulders, and gets back out.

The shower sex can wait.

“You should probably check your cell phone,” Cas notes from where he stands in front of the bed, two outfits laid out on the mattress in front of him. 

“I have a cell phone?” Dean asks.

“It appeared on the night stand while you were showering.”

As Dean walks over to Cas, still rubbing a towel over his wet hair, he sees that one outfit is his typical black suit, oversized dress shirt, and blue tie, the other is khakis and a sweater vest and a dark blue button down. He wrinkles his nose.

Wordlessly, Dean returns to the closet, gets a pair of jeans from Cas' side, a white t-shirt, and after some consideration, a light blue plaid shirt from his own side.

When he turns back around, he catches Cas staring at his back and smirks. “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” Cas admits, and takes the clothes from Dean. “Thanks for your shirt.”

The smirk is still there as Dean gets dressed, careful to put on a bit of a show for Cas, stretching his back as he slips into the t-shirt, rolling his shoulders, bending down for his jeans.

“Dean,” Cas says, gravelly, and when Dean looks up at him from where he's tying his boots, he finds Cas' eyes dark and hooded. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Dean teases, even winks at Cas.

“Go check your cell phone,” Cas reminds him, turns around as he pulls the shirt over his head.

Objectively speaking, Cas has a nice body. He's fit and toned in all the right places and he's an attractive guy. Dean can appreciate that.

When he does check his phone, he finds three missed calls and a text from his Mom. _So, when are you going to stop by?_

He doesn't think twice to hit the call button.

Mary picks up on the second ring. “Dean?” She sounds happy and surprised and it's the second time that day that Dean can breathe a little more freely.

“Hi, Mom,” he smiles into the speaker.

“It's good to hear your voice. I was wondering when you'd finally call.”

“Mom, I've been here for what, two days?”

“Still, I'm your Mom,” there's _that_ tone, the one only mothers can hit. “And I missed you, Dean. Why don't you come over for lunch? It's already past 11 o'clock, so.”

“That late? Huh. Yeah, we just got up from having breakfast, to be honest. But lunch sounds nice.”

Mary pauses for a moment too long, and that's when Dean notices his slip-up. Of course she won't let it slide. “Um, 'we'? Who's the collective 'we' here?” She sounds amused and fond and Dean knows it's not a big deal for her, at all.

“Me and Cas,” he answers, and his eyes find Cas' across the room.

Which, oh, is not a good idea. Cas wears his shirt and tight jeans and Dean realizes that after years of being used to Cas in a trench, he never quite saw what that ass looked like.

_Damn._

“Hello, Mary,” Cas calls out, loud enough for his Mom to hear.

She chuckles. “Bring him.”

“Sure,” Dean nods, despite the flutter in his stomach, “See you in a bit.”

“Looking forward to it,” Mary smiles when she hangs up, and Dean can hear it.

He's not so sure about what he's feeling.

But Mary and Cas have known each other. This is nothing new. Cas is family to her, she has said so multiple times.

Dean takes another deep breath, trying to compose himself. “Cas, how do you feel about lunch at my parents'?”

Cas shrugs and nods and _damn,_ that look on him – Dean can't help himself, he walks over, grabs him around the waist, hands sliding under the flannel. “I like this,” he admits, tugging at the shirt.

“Good choice on your part,” Cas blinks up at him, too close and yet not close enough.

“Yeah, well, why do I feel like I've sabotaged myself,” Dean huffs. “Alright, let's get going before I do something stupid.”

“Stupid like?”

Dean walks backwards to the door, points at Cas. “Like throw you on that bed and get all of those clothes off of you again.”

Cas rolls his eyes fondly.

***

“Hello, boys! Come on in,” Mary waves them inside with a huge grin as soon as the door is open. She hugs them both, and Dean buries his nose in her hair and kisses her cheek and is so glad she's here and he's here.

“Missed you,” he mumbles.

The drive was a short one, and it hadn't hit Dean until he rang the doorbell – he's not only going to see his Mom again.

The thought of Cas meeting John Winchester sits in his stomach like ten pounds of concrete. Because he has no idea how to tell his Dad about them and their relationship and the fact that his perfect, oldest son--

Yeah, not going there. “Is Dad--” he manages with a pointed look at Mary.

Mary's smile is bright, but when she tilts her head at Dean, he has the feeling like he's being completely see-through for her. “John is still out hunting.”

That, on the other hand, makes Dean falter. “Hunting?”

“Deer,” Mary winks, shrugs with one shoulder. “His way of coping.”

“Ah,” Dean nods, and again, relief is washing over him. This, his Mom and Cas, this he can do. He had no idea his Dad in that equation would make this meet-up a thousand times more nerve-wrecking.

“So,” Mary closes the door behind them, “Cas, I haven't seen you wearing anything but a trench coat, ever. Suits you.”

“Dean chose those for me,” Cas states, matter-of-factly.

“Did he now,” Mary grins, but doesn't elaborate. Instead, she has them sit down for lunch, and serves each of them casserole and steamed veggies and Dean wonders. “Don't give me that look, Dean. I learned how to cook.”

“I should probably give that a try, too,” Dean admits. “Learning how to cook, I mean.”

“You should, it's actually very relaxing. And even if you fail, you can always fix it before serving.”

Dean throws his head back with a laugh at that.

It's only then that Dean notices the fourth set of cutlery and dishes, and right when he wants to ask, there's a flutter in the air.

“Hi!” a familiar voice greets them from behind Dean's back.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbles under his breath, starts grinning as he turns around. “Jack?”

Cas has a secretive little smile on his lips when Dean meets his eyes, so he was probably sensing Jack. It's not like it matters, Dean is happy to see him, is grateful for everything he did, so he gets up and hugs the living daylights out of him.

“Dean,” Jack pats his back. “Can't breathe.”

Huffing out a laugh, Dean steps back a bit, both hands at Jack's shoulders. “Sorry. Good to see you, kid.”

Mary has a content grin on her lips when she tells them to dig in.

“Well, I get it now, why you did veggies for three junk food junkies,” Dean comments with his mouth full, which gets him a _look_ from Cas that says he should probably behave himself outside of their home and a raised eyebrow from Mary.

“At least Jack here had one role model to pick up good eating habits from,” Mary points her fork at Dean. “That's why. Also, we had to celebrate, right? I'm happy to have my boys back together. Well, three out of four so far.”

The empty chairs to their side are a reminder that yes, they're still missing two of the Winchester men.

“He's happy,” Jack states, a forlorn look in his eyes and a tiny smile on his lips. “Sam and Eileen, they have a son now. His name is Dean.”

Mary and Dean share a fond smile.

“Sam misses us, a lot. On your birthday, Dean, he spent an hour just sitting in the Impala.”

That puts a dent in Dean's puddle of happiness, but he gets it. He misses Sam, too, and he knows his heaven won't be complete until Sam is here as well. But he will be.

They eat in comfortable silence and it is good, after all. That Dean would see the day his Mom puts something edible on the table that is not PB&J – though Cas would like that – or Winchester surprise.

Still, Dean hasn't been this uneasy and sweaty since he thought he'd have to do this in front of his Dad, but now that one after the other, they're putting down their forks and knives, he knows he can no longer _not_ talk about this.

If only he had some kind of an opener, something to make him get this thing out into the open.

“Something you wanna tell me?” Mary prompts him, looking directly at Dean.

And there's his opener, even if Dean feels like he's never going to be fully ready to have this talk.

Then again, he'd rather have it with his Mom alone than with Dad's inquiring, intense gaze on him.

“Yeah, actually,” Dean looks down at his hands in his lap, and part of him wants to reach over, grab Cas' hand, for emotional support.

It's Mary. His Mom. Who knows Cas, has known him for years. There is no reason to worry about her reaction.

Still, how to put this. _Cas is my boyfriend?_ Are they there yet? Is it implied? Doesn't it sound stupid and like – way too little for what they actually are to each other?

Mary's eyebrows rise even higher when her lips quirk into a knowing smile. “Like a band-aid, Dean. Get it off your chest.”

“Dean and I--” Cas starts, when Dean says at the same time, “So Cas and I--” They look at each other and laugh.

As Cas motions for Dean to continue, Dean takes a deep breath. Band-aid, right. “Cas and I live down the road, together,” is what he ends up saying.

Mary's wistful smile turns into a lopsided smirk. “So you finally--”

“Still working on it,” Dean interrupts her. “Please don't tell Dad yet.”

With a slow blink, Mary motions her lips zipping shut. “Don't worry.”

“How much does he know, anyway?”

“Well, he remembers that day in the bunker,” Mary sighs. “But he remembers it as it having been a dream. I told him that it was true, that you two did live with an angel and Lucifer's son in an underground bunker. But that only got us into talking about the Men of Letters, not exactly into what said angel and his oldest son are doing behind closed doors.”

Dean has not felt this embarrassed since Dad caught him kissing a girl in the backseat of the Impala when he was sixteen.

“There's nothing to tell,” Cas manages to save his ass, but then he adds, “So far.”

“Oh boys,” Mary laughs with her head thrown back. “Take your time. You earned it. For as long as I've been gone, you've been on the run. And even when I was back, you never stopped long enough to take time for yourself. You've got nothing but time here, so enjoy it.”

Dean swallows, that lump in his throat making a reprise. “What do you think Dad is going to say?”

And Dean remembers, vividly, when he worked  _that_ case with Dad. He was eighteen, barely legal, but old enough to work his charm. The police officer had been a standoffish prick, but Dean had eyes and he'd noticed the officer giving him a once-over as they stepped in. So he'd made his way into the evidence room – with leaning his hips against the counter, leather jacket falling open, with licking his lips at the right time, with a wink and a nod. When he had found what they were looking for – and it'd been so silly, he doesn't even remember what they were hunting – but when he returned, tongue in cheek and proud of his achievement and with the evidence in his hands, it had taken him one look at Dad's dark eyes, flared nostrils and his lips, pressed together in a flat line, to know that he was in for a lecture.

“What do you think you're doing?” Dad had shouted at him, as soon as they were in the car. “What are you, some kind of--” and he couldn't even say it, couldn't even use the derogatory term that was right there on the tip of his tongue. Dean knew it, Dad knew it. He didn't need to spell it out to make Dean feel like shit.

“No, Sir,” he'd said, head lowered in shame. “But, I thought, the case--”

“Listen, I don't want some sicko like that to get the wrong idea and--” again, not able to finish that sentence. “You have no idea what _someone like that_ could be capable of, and I don't want you to get hurt. Think about Sammy.”

No wonder Dean still has issues just thinking about sex with Cas.

Mary leans forward, elbows on the table, and looks at Dean, unwavering. “If he has anything to say but 'Dean, I'm happy for you', I'm going to kick his ass.”

Dean's stomach flutters. She knows.

Under the table, Cas' hand finds his thigh, and Dean doesn't hesitate reaching down to squeeze it.

Jack looks between the three of them like he does not only miss vital information, but also context and background and everything in-between. “I don't get it,” he ends up saying. “Why would John oppose the fact that Dean and Cas are fornicating?”

And that's it, Dean snorts, Cas huffs a laugh on the exhale, and Mary shakes her head. “It's alright, kid. It will be alright.”

Yes, Dean has missed his Mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this is fic won't go into detail about that. Lol nope.  
> I hope you enjoyed seeing Dean getting more comfortable in his own skin? ;-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: A lazy morning in bed, Dean and Cas becoming comfortable in their home, and Dean comes out to Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, your comments have blown me away. I have no idea how I deserve all this love, but I'm so so happy that this fic gives you some peace and comfort. It does, for me, too. And I have a feeling we all need it, in the wake of the finale.
> 
> Just here to say: Thank you all so much. Thank you for following along as we meet new and old characters (big additions coming soon!). Also, I promise we'll get to the smut, eventually!

“You _choose_ to do the dishes?” Dean asks in disbelief.

Mary gives him a nonplussed look. “Yeah. Makes for the best conversations. It's a tradition for your Dad and me.”

Dean sighs, takes a towel, and starts drying plates. The thing is, he can see them like this, talking about silly everyday stuff in front of the soapy sink.

After Jack and Cas went on their daily maintenance run together, supposedly fixing some minor structural things Dean can't get behind, Dean had staid with his Mom. “So how has it been, with Dad?”

That makes a dopey grin appear on Mary's lips and Dean can't help but mirror it. It feels right to see her happy and at peace, not only with where she's at, but also at peace with Jack. It was the right thing to not try to bring her back, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he and Cas--

Mary, bless her, pulls him out of that train of thought. “John and I... we had a lot of catching up to do. But this is what we always wanted. No hunting, just freedom and peace. We were only ever unhappy without the other one in our life.”

“Are you seriously telling me that you don't miss hunting?”

Mary quirks an eyebrow at him, “Are you seriously telling me that you do?”

Dean thinks about it. Sure, the thrill of taking out a monster, of working through the adrenaline rush of a fight, of looking at his bloodied and bruised body afterwards, sometimes aching for days – and to know that you did good and you had survived, came out on top, that's hunting. He lives for it.  _Lived,_ Dean corrects himself inwardly.

“I get where you've got it from,” Mary winks. “I do, but I wanted out. And your Dad never wanted to be a hunter in the first place, he was thrown into this. I get that, too, since I was also pulled back into it.”

“It's just what happens, right,” Dean shakes his head. “No, I guess you're right. I really don't miss nearly dying three times a week. Or see my brother and my friends hurt.”

They work in silence for a while, just passing glasses and dishes back and forth, until Mary picks up the conversation again. “John and I, we had a lot of blanks to fill in. I missed so much even though I knew what had happened from what you and Sam and Cas told me, and from John's journal - but John also missed a huge part of your lifes. When I told him how many times you'd saved the world, he was speechless.”

Dean hums, remembers John's words, that evening, in the bunker.

Sure, it doesn't make up for a childhood spent abandoned, with Sam only, with too much responsibility too early – and hunting. For guilt trips and mindless obedience being asked of him without an alternative, without knowing it better.

“Plus, John did get the short end of the stick,” Mary notes amused. “Two boys in puberty as a single parent, I guess that wasn't fun.”

Dean remembers nights spent out past curfew with his fake ID, hustling pool and drinking. Sam fighting Dad at every turn, every corner, rebelling, pushing the limits. Leaving.

Not excuses, but explanations.

He remembers himself, in his 20s, full of himself, too proud to ask for help or work with other hunters, remembers Ellen giving him a piece of her mind. Arguing with Sam, all the damn time.

“I'm sure we were a handful,” Dean admits. Hindsight is a bitch, and some things he gets better than he did back then. He's also past the point where he put his Dad on a pedestal. Just because he chose to no longer hold it over John doesn't mean he forgot about it all.

His thoughts inevitably circle back to Cas, his experience with a parent that was never there. _Big expert on dead-beat dads._

That's when Dean realizes, “Dad hasn't met Cas yet, has he?”

“No, he hasn't.” Mary says, “But he knows who Cas is.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That he's an angel, saved you from hell, became your best friend. I figured, the rest wasn't my story to tell,” and the sheer look she gives him makes Dean feel hot at the tip of his ears. Mary continues, “You know, it's not like Cas is here all the time. Just like Jack, he and the other angels are very hands-off, from what I understand. He was here, once, the day you died. He was so flustered.”

“Flustered?” Dean repeats, chuckles.

“Yeah, he told me, what had happened with... Chuck, and Billie. He told me what happened before the Empty took him,” Mary says while scrubbing down the gratin dish. She watches Dean from the corner of her eyes. “Before you ask, no, I was not surprised. But, honestly, I don't think he ever expected to be held accountable for what he said, there. And surely not as soon.”

“So that's why you told him to wait until I--” Dean looks away, licks his lips. They feel dry.

Mary nods. “Also, because I knew you'd  _really_ need the time to yourself. To sort out your feelings.”

It's Dean's turn to watch her, suspicious. “Did he tell you what I said?”

“No, but he didn't need to,” she hands him the gratin dish, which its too huge for the drying rack.

“Uhm.”

“Dean, I saw the mixtape in Cas' car.”

“It was just a mixtape.”

Mary's eyebrows shoot upwards. “It was a _mixtape_. Of  _Zeppelin_ songs. From _you_.”

“Yeah, so?” Dean pouts.

“Last time someone gave _me_ a mixtape of Zeppelin songs, I married him.”

Dean scratches the back of his head. He can't look at her. It's still a bit much for him.

“However, it's not like I wouldn't have known if I hadn't seen that mixtape,” she winks.

Dean blinks at her.

She leaves it at that and Dean doesn't need to hear any more of it. If they haven't been subtle about each other to Demon #342, they surely were an open book to his Mom.

And Dean suppresses a groan at the realization that yep, Sammy totally knew, too. And the worst part? He chose  _not_ to tease Dean about Cas, despite heaps of cannon fodder. The guy who teased Dean about every girl he ever met on any hunt ever. Who brought them up years later to wind Dean up. Sam knew exactly that they were too serious for that. Sam knew. Well, fuck. Dean rubs his eyes.

“What?” Mary asks, nudges her elbow against Dean's.

“Just thinking about Sam,” Dean admits. “When he catches wind of this... thing between Cas and me, I'll never hear the end of it.”

“He saw it coming from a mile away, I'm sure.”

And Dean has all these lines conveniently on repeat in his brain.

_ He calls once and it's 'Hello.' What, you like him better or something? _

_ Shouldn't it be Deastiel? DeanCas? _

Oh, Sam knew alright.

Mary dries her hands on a towel and turns expectantly towards Dean. “So, how about some pie?”

That, on the other hand, gets Dean's attention immediately. “Is that a question? Because there's only one answer.”

“We're gonna bake it from scratch, though,” Mary warns him with a pointed finger.

“You know we could just-” Dean lifts his hand, thumb and middle finger ready for a snap.

“Aw, where would be the fun in that,” Mary smirks. “Grab a knife, peel those apples,” she orders and puts a huge bowl of apples in front of him. “I'm gonna start on the dough.”

And so Dean helps peel and slice apples, cook up the filling and place the slices in a beautiful circle atop the pie. They do a crumble crust and an hour later, Dean can't help but stare at the oven, watching the filling bubble at the surface, see the crumbs brown from the heat. His mouth is watering.

They just sat down at the table with a cup of coffee each, and Mary is in the middle of a funny story about Bobby's and Ellen's wedding, when the front door opens.

Dean breathes. But there's no vice around his rib cage, no fear, no worry.

“Hey, Dad,” he says, quietly, as Mary smiles through her fingers, chin on her hand, propped up on the table.

John hesitates for a second before he drops his hunting gear in the hallway. There are tears in his eyes by the time Dean meets him half-way to the kitchen, and they share a tight hug. “Son,” is the only word John manages.

Dean pats his shoulder, sniffles away a few tears of his own.

“We made pie,” Dean says, in lieu of anything else suitable for a reunion as weighted as this one.

“Still making pie, to be correct,” Mary adds amused, and John laughs. He walks over to her and Dean does not watch him, nope, because his parents kissing is still – no, he does not need to see that, thank you very much.

A few hushed words later, Dean clears his throat and takes the few steps towards the table, slowly, giving them their privacy.

“I'm gonna go wash up,” John nods, and goes to get his boots and jacket off. “Looking forward to the pie!”

“It's just about done!” Mary calls after him.

Dean nods with a tiny smile, and they sit and drink coffee in silence. When the alarm clock rings, Mary puts the pie onto the windowsill to cool, and Dean is literally and figuratively in heaven.

“So, what did I miss, except for lunch?” John says upon his return.

“Cas and Jack,” Mary shrugs. “But I'm sure they'll be back another time.”

The flutter in Dean's stomach isn't all, but mostly, pleasant. 

“I haven't even met them yet, it's about damn time.”

Looking up, Dean watches his Dad sip his coffee. He has no idea what he's in for. How Cas has changed him, how Jack had changed all of them. What he meant, to the world, to heaven, to the Winchesters collectively. No, John has no idea.

“Mom told me she didn't tell you much about them,” Dean starts.

John tilts his head to the side, a tiny smile curving his lips under a graying beard. “Well, she could tell me about Jack. But we missed a whole decade of yours and Sammy's life.”

Was it really a decade? Dean struggles, counts them on his fingers. And sure enough, ten years. 

“I'd really like to know what happened after I made that deal to save you,” John states, quietly. “If you're up for telling me.”

“Hm,” Dean hums. “Mom, about that pie?”

“It's cooled down enough to be eaten, I think.”

Dean whoops, and after the first slice and well into the second, he starts to talk.

About Yellow Eyes and the other psychic children, about Sam losing the Battle Royale, and about the crappy deal he made, desperate to get Sam back. About that year, that short year, where he knew he'd die and didn't care about much of anything. The forty years in hell, he skips, because John would know and Mary doesn't need details – if she can't already guess.

Dean tells John about waking up in his own grave with a handprint on his shoulder, of a cosmic being so powerful, it burned out Pamela's eyes. About summoning Castiel and meeting him, in that barn. About Lillith, and Ruby – the demon blood thing, he skips too, because that is Sam's story to tell, one day. About Cas rebelling, falling, about the apocalypse and Michael and Lucifer and Adam.

John nods, uneasy, when Dean tells him about Sam jumping into the cage, into hell, with Lucifer and Michael.

The years that follow, the restless ones, with Mary's father and soulless Sam, are a quick story to be told. Cas and Crowley and Leviathans unleashed onto the world are harder, mostly because he has no explanation for what he did after Cas supposedly exploded in that water reservoir. “The only thing left of him was his coat, so I kept it.” And why did he tell them that?

Mary smiles, knowingly.

Dean looks at John. Tells him about the corn syrup scandal, about killing Dick Roman. About Cas going with him, despite everything, despite them still mending their friendship, after Cas took Sam's hallucinations upon himself. Purgatory hurts, admitting to John that he befriended Benny, that he wouldn't leave without Cas. That he even made up a story to cope with the fact that he couldn't save Cas. It still hurts, to this day.

Mary still smiles, and puts a third slice of pie onto his plate.

Dean tells them all about prophets, about Kevin and Donatello, and fallen angels, and shortens the part where the Mark of Cain turned him into a demon to the necessary facts. Naomi brainwashing Cas also gets only half a sentence worth a mention.

And he tells them about Charlie.

“She sounds like a lovely young lady,” John notes, in _that_ tone.

Dean shakes his head, grins. “She is, and she's also a lesbian.”

John blinks. “Well, then.”

_He took that surprisingly well,_ Dean finds himself thinking.

So he finishes his story, tells John where his own dad went, that night, tells him about the bunker and the Men of Letters and Ms. Butters and, in the end – Amara and Chuck.

And how Mom came back.

“I guess you know the rest,” he smiles. 

With a smile, John nods. “Probably a lot more stories for another day in all of these years.”

“Did I mention that time one of the angels threw us into a parallel universe where we were actors on a TV show, playing Sam and Dean? And Cas' name was _Misha,”_ Dean laughs. “And that other time when we got zapped into Scooby Doo.”

“I wish I could say that surprises me,” Mary replies, dead serious, “but it somehow doesn't.”

John just stares at him, before he starts laughing with his head thrown back. “You two sure had one hell of a life.”

“Three,” Mary corrects him. “There was always Cas.”

“Ah, I remember. Your boys, right,” John smiles at her, fond and heartfelt. He squeezes her hand.

It's kind of gross but Dean is so happy for them.

And Mary is right. Cas was always there. He was there, back in '73, when Dean met the young John Winchester. He was there, 5 years into the future, where the End was upon them, Lucifer rising, the world doomed, and even though Cas was human, he was still at Dean's side. He was there when Dean went after Dick Roman, against all odds. He was there when Dean went to meet Amara, expecting to die, and even offering to go with him. Always offering to go with him.

So maybe Dean has a huge grin on his face that he can't quite get under control, and maybe Mary does this mom-thing where she knows exactly what's going on in that head of his.

“More pie, Dean?” she asks instead.

Dean pats his belly, shakes his head. “One for the road? Or make it two, so Cas doesn't feel left out. I'm gonna head home once I can move again.”

Mary packs him a tupperware box.

And right when Dean goes to put on his shoes, a flutter of wings announces Cas' return. And it wouldn't be Cas if he wouldn't materialize right behind Dean, who's bending forwards tying his laces.

“Hey,” Dean chuckles, straightens and turns around. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Cas says, turns towards the kitchen table and nods. “Mary, John.”

Mary smiles and says, “I packed a slice of apple pie for you, make sure Dean doesn't eat it all alone.”

Lowering his eyes, Cas nods. “Thank you.”

Dean watches the exchange with mixed feelings. Cas is still standing right in front of him, as per usual, and it reminds Dean of their early days where he had no sense of personal space. They got better – well, partly – over the years. Something makes Dean think he does it on purpose. He shakes his head with an amused lopsided smile, puts his index finger against Cas' chest, and pushes until Cas gets the hint and takes a step back.

“You ready to go home?” he asks, meant for Cas' ears only, and Cas nods again.

That's when John gets up and meets them in the hallway, offering his hand to Cas. “I heard a lot about you, Castiel. It's nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Cas offers, and shakes his hand.

“Thank you for saving my son, and being such a good friend for him for all these years.”

Cas opens his mouth, but he clearly has no idea what to say. So he closes it again.

Dean gets it. Cas' eyes search for his, and Dean gets it. Cas wants to correct John, and Dean gets that it's not Cas' place to do so.

After everything Dean has just explained, basically laid out his life story and how deeply intertwined it is with Cas, the statement irks him, too. 

“Dad,” he steels himself, grabs his jacket, and John looks surprised at his serious tone. Behind his back, Mary's eyes go wide when she meets Dean's. She knows that tone, and probably knows what Dean is about to do. _Just mom things._ She clasps her hand around her mouth, but Dean can see the smile behind it. _Please don't tell Dad, yet._ Because this one is on him. “Cas is much more than a good friend, just to make that clear.”

Cas blinks, but the wrinkle on his forehead disappears when Dean leads him to the front door, one hand on his elbow.

“Thanks for lunch and the pie, mom!” Dean calls out, lifting the tupperware as a ways of goodbye. “Have a nice evening. We'll see you soon.”

“Bye, you two,” Mary chuckles.

John lifts his hand with an awkward smile.

And Dean feels zero guilt to leave him stewing in his own juices like that. His Mom can and will handle the rest. He doesn't need his father's approval or blessing, hasn't needed it for a long time. 

They fold themselves into the Impala and take the scenic road home.

Cas eats his piece of pie on the passenger seat, to ZZ Top and 'Sharp dressed Men'.

Dean is glad that he doesn't need to pay that much attention to the road, because Cas is moaning with appreciation and licking his fingers. He also can't stop grinning.

He's proud. Of himself, of them, of their history, of standing up to John, of being himself and not being ashamed of it.

_ What a day. _

When they return to the house, the sun is low on the horizon, and Dean flops down on the sofa immediately. It's an incredibly comfy couch, big enough for two grown people.

Now all he needs is some good food, just because he feels like it.

Cas places two pizza boxes on the couch table and Dean sighs when he notices a meat lover's for himself. He'd tell Cas he loves him, if he didn't already, today. Their mental connection is something else.

“Do you want to watch a movie or head over to the Roadhouse after dinner?” Cas asks between two bites of Pizza Funghi.

Dean ponders for a few short moments before he decides that he doesn't need to be at the Roadhouse three days in a row. Plus, he's been socializing all afternoon, he could use a night in with his-- whatever Cas is. 

He could use a quiet evening, just hanging out with Cas.

“Netflix and chill?” Dean suggests.

“Isn't that a euphemism for having sex?” Cas throws back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Dean gulps, rubs his hand over his lips.  _Busted._ “No pun intended.”

With a smile, Cas turns back towards his pizza. “Do you have a movie in mind?”

Dean perks up. “Why does this sound like you have a suggestion?”

“Because I do,” Cas picks a string of cheese off the box, pops it in his mouth and Dean is lost, for a moment, staring at his lips. That is one damn nice set of lips. “Have you ever heard of Winnetou and Old Shatterhand?”

Dean blinks. “Who?” Admittedly, half his brain is still busy... somewhere downstairs.

“It's a German movie series, based on the popular novels by Karl May. Now, these novels are not quite undisputed, especially in hindsight, but they made for an impressive series at their time. I figured the story and the whole premise of them would resonate with you.”

“Sure, let's do that,” Dean agrees, curious as to what Cas deemed suitable for both of them to watch, “Let me get drinks real quick.”

And as the movie starts and Dean takes in the badass gunslinger and cowboy that is the famous Old Shatterhand and his blood brother, the Apache chief Winnetou, he finds himself more and more engrossed with it.

First, when they're done eating, he puts his feet up on the coffee table. When that becomes uncomfortable and his knees become stiff, he pulls his feet up onto the couch beside himself, leans his shoulder against Cas.

After the movie, Cas has somehow worked his way around Dean's shoulder and they have rearranged themselves on the sofa to what Dean can only call – cuddling. His back is against Cas' chest, Cas' arm around his neck, and somewhere through the climax – of the  _film,_ again, no pun intended – Dean has begun to play with Cas' fingers. Soft, gentle, delicate fingers, no scars, no callouses like his own.

To know that he can do that now, just because he feels like it, grounds Dean in a way he never thought possible.

He's lying across Cas' shin and it's so comfortable. How have they never done this in 12 years? Hanging out, watching a movie, limbs wrapped around each other's. How did they postpone this for as long as they did?

When the movie finishes, they don't get up. Cas only asks, “So?” and rests his chin on Dean's head.

“It's not 'Tombstone', but I enjoyed it,” Dean mumbles, too lazy to do much of anything. He threads his finger's through Cas' on his chest. “There's more?”

“Do you want to watch the next one, too?”

“Why not? Do you want to?”

“I wouldn't mind.”

Sometime, about half an hour or so into the second movie, Dean allows himself to lean back, no remorse, rests his head at Cas' shoulder.

There's a blank after that. Just warmth and mumbling voices and coziness and safety. A hand around his middle, resting on his belly.

“Dean.”

“Hm.”

“You fell asleep.”

“Mmmh.”

“I think we should head to bed.”

“Can't move,” Dean mutters without opening his eyes.

Cas sighs, a low, long-suffering, overly dramatic huff of air into Dean's neck. He doesn't have to see the smile on Cas' lips to know it's there.

“I'm going to zap you.”

“Do that,” and just for good measure, Dean leans up and sideways to place a kiss on his neck.

Cas' breath hitches.

“ _Dean,”_ he warns.

“Hmm?” This time, Dean opens his eyes. Takes it all in. Cas around him, his arms, legs, the way he smells, the way he breathes.

Cas looks at him with an unreadable expression. “Walking a thin line here.”

“Oh, am I?” Dean blinks, grins, and is wide awake, all of a sudden. This, this is fun. He sits up, his back against the sofa, then decides that there's entirely too much room between them and turns. Knees on the couch, propped up on his hands, lowering himself towards Cas.

His chest is maybe an inch from Cas' as he leans in, lips grazing Cas' ear. “Lemme do that again, properly, then,” he whispers, and kisses a line down Cas' neck, from his earlobe to his shoulder blade.

“That line just became slimmer,” Cas grumbles, “You're shameless.”

“Well, what can I say,” Dean grins at him. “You test me, too, Cas.”

“I thought you wanted _me_ to sweep _you_ off your feet?” He's huffy, amused and a little pouty. It's adorable.

And suddenly, there are those delicate, gentle hands again, on his shoulders, trailing up his neck, into his hair and Dean's stomach drops. 

He's an inch from Cas' body looking straight into his eyes and eyelines aside, there is nothing straight about this. It hits him, like a sledge hammer, and all of a sudden it's too much, too soon.

Dean heaves a huge breath and sits back on his haunches, tries to soothe Cas with a heartfelt smile. “Sorry. Got a bit carried away there.”

Cas is probably dizzy from mood whiplash by now, but he untangles himself and sits down next to Dean. “It's fine.” He tilts his head sideways, “Though, what's the term? I'd give a penny for your thoughts, there.”

That catches him totally out of left field, and Dean laughs. What can he even say in his defense? He just went with the flow, with the mood. Cas in that blue plaid shirt - which is Dean's, and he didn't think that fact would matter but it  _does_ \- looks good. Approachable. And is it ever fun to rile him up and leave him hanging. Not only for Cas, but for himself, too. He likes the tingle, the suspension in his gut, to know that they're not quite there, but toeing their lines, their boundaries, again and again, to see how far they can go, to negotiate them anew.

And Cas is so wonderfully patient.

Dean is also still hard in his pants, but he ignores it. It adds an edge to this situation, for sure, and he can't say he doesn't enjoy that, too.

“I don't have a good answer,” he shrugs, scratches his neck where Cas' hands were mere seconds ago.

“Then don't answer with words,” Cas replies, and sinks back into the couch, flat on his back, head on the armrest and one leg beside Dean's and – _oh._

Laid out in front of him, waiting, a smug expression tugging at his lips, so tempting. He's so open, giving Dean an opportunity, but if Dean wanted, he could stay, like this, because Cas may be lounging on the sofa but there's nothing sexual about it. If he decided to not see it.

As it is, Dean doesn't think twice, doesn't want to think about it.

For the second time that evening, he crawls over Cas' body, their legs slotting together, hips aligning, arms wrapping around his middle, hands sliding to his shoulder blades. Deep breath, and their chests touch, no air between them any more. No safety zone.

There's no breasts cushioning the embrace. Dean rests his elbows on each side of Cas' head and stares at him from two inches away.

So blue. How are those eyes so, so blue.

How do those lips do this thing where Cas doesn't do  _anything_ with them but Dean can't stop staring at them?

The thought manifests in his brain, unshakable, without doubt.

_ Kiss him. _

_ I want to kiss him. _

And this time, it's not to rile Cas up, no.

This time, he knows it's a need, so strong, so powerful, so overwhelming.

Their foreheads touch, and Dean grins as Cas rubs the tip of his nose against his. So gentle. Still giving him an out.

Dean grins, and his pulse thumps in his ears when he says, “How do I deserve you, Cas?”

And Cas' bright blue eyes shine up at him when his breath ghosts across Dean's lips with every word, every syllable. “You deserve the world, Dean.”

There's that nagging feeling, again, in the back of his head, and Cas apparently notices, pulls back just a bit, just an inch.

“You deserve it all, you deserve to be saved and loved, you deserve to want things for yourself, you deserve to have them and not feel guilty about it. So it's not a question whether or not you deserve me but a fact that no one ever deserves anybody, because that's not the point of a relationship. Did Sam deserve Eileen? What qualified him?”

“He brought her back?” Dean tries.

“I brought you back,” Cas snarks, tongue-in-cheek. “Again, the point is--”

“I get it, I get it,” Dean drops his head onto the armrest, beside Cas' head. The bulge between his legs sure bid its goodbye, and the urge to kiss Cas has been somewhat derailed. “But, seriously. Can we not talk about my brother when I'm about to kiss you?”

A smirk plays around Cas lips. “And where would be the fun in that?”

Which is when Dean realizes that this was Cas' way of biding them time. For himself, for Dean. His stomach still tingles, and it's been so easy to do this, he, too, wants to hold on to this level of comfort, of intimacy.

_For now,_ he thinks, and turns his head to nibble at the shell of Cas' ear with just a hint of teeth.

The groan he elicits out of Cas at that almost  _sends_ him, but he copes.

“You are a _menace,”_ Cas grumbles.

“Happy to oblige,” Dean grins. “C'mon, let's hit the hay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean bakes pie with Mary, tells John all about Cas, including the fact that he's more than a friend, and they have an almost-steamy movie night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a hard one. I brooded over it a lot, because I wanted to get it right. I hope I got Dean right, because - well, he's an idiot and repressed to perfection, but I think I'll shut up now and let him take over.

Dean wakes up because something tickles his nose.

Upon opening his eyes – and it's a testimony to how used to this he became in the last couple of days, that he doesn't flinch or anything – he finds a dark mop of hair, on his chest.

Cas.

The feeling that rushes through him is a mixture of  _everything._

He kisses the top of Cas' head.

A sniffle, a little shake of his head. A tiny snore, slow, even breath.

Dean grins.

These early morning hours, when they're both still half asleep and the reality around them only starts to sink in, Dean loves them. Where he needs to remind himself that this is very, very real, that  _they_ are real, and there's no monsters at his doorstep, no threats to their happiness, no time limit to work this out. These moments are relaxing down to his core, down to his very soul. He, who's always been hunted, always been on the run – and now, he finally has a place to call home, a person to call home. And that person knows it.

Dean buries his nose in Cas' hair. He smells so good, like fresh sea water.

His heart skips, his mind spins. Blood rushes in his ears and he's so full of affection and gratefulness, so full of  _feelings_ for his angel. He doesn't even know where it begins or where he should begin describing it.

What he does know is that he might as well start to face those feelings. The attraction, the sex, they can work that out, later. This, this is far more important now.

And there would've been a time where he would've been frustrated or scared. Not that he's completely at ease, yet, but that's different – it's not because of  _having_ feelings, of being attached to someone who's not his brother, of feeling protective of someone else. What scares him now is the sheer magnitude of feelings Cas brings out in him. Telling his Dad that he's in a relationship with a guy, angel or not? Would've been unthinkable back in the day. And the fact that he honestly didn't even need to hear an answer? Had come as a surprise on top. Dean's heart still races just thinking about that.

When did it even happen?

He told Cas, sometime after his first death, it started to feel like not only losing a brother, but losing a best friend, when he died. But there's no significant moment that he could pin it on, when exactly he realized that Cas – Cas is special and will always be special. Cas is more than yet another beloved friend, family member, acquaintance, whatever, that they lost along the way.

Sometime along the way, that feeling took root. And it took root early.  _Just so you understand... why... I can't help. Never change. We're making it up as we go. I like past-you. You're gonna feed your friends into the meat grinder - Cas, too? Hey, assbutt. Last night on earth, what are your plans?_

It's not like it matters. Sometime between learning that angels are dicks and one does not fit with the others--

_You know what every other version of you did after 'gripping him tight and raising him from perdition'? They did what they were told. But not you!_

Cas has always been as special to Dean as Dean was to him. They broke heaven, hell and every expectation anyone ever had of them. Dean couldn't be more grateful to have gotten _this_ version of Cas. The rebellious version, full of questions, full of doubts, full of feelings.

Since he has no taste, clearly.

And sometime along the way, friendship and fondness became commitment and responsibility, became devotion and caring and not wanting to live without the other.

After Lucifer stabbed Cas, Sam left Dean to deal with his body and the pyre. Because Sam knew Dean  _needed_ to do that, to grieve. It was different already, then. He remembers feeling, for lack of better wording, like a widower. And it was the weirdest feeling among all the hurt and the anger and the hope and the desperation, because it didn't fit. Yet, seeing Cas' wings burnt into the dirt, kneeling next to him, feeling empty and thinking 'This can't be happening' over and over and over, it's exactly what he felt. A widower, even though they hadn't been a couple. So Dean, ever the master of repression, shoved it way down and focused his anger for not being allowed to feel the way he felt elsewhere. Namely, Jack.

Hindsight is a bitch.

Dean splays his hand wide, thumb resting against Cas' neck, and knows that despite everything, he's a lucky man.

Isn't it a privilege? To fall in love, slow as molasses, thick and slow and sweet, to sink into this without knowing, without planning on it. He knew loving someone was never in the books for someone like him. Maybe that's why he never dared to think about it. Maybe that's why Cas' confession had hit him so out of left field as it did.

Dean breathes, clean sweat and sheets that smell both familiar and of a mixture of both of them and salty sea water.

Dean breathes, and surrenders.

It doesn't always need that big bang of revelation, where sparks fly and destiny rearranges itself. That moment where eyes meet and heads turn and it's all said and done.

It's not that cut and dry, nothing about them ever has been, anyway. Too many obstacles along the way, one too many players on the board using them, playing them, sabotaging them.

But Dean gets it, now. The first time Cas was gone, he drank and watched Hentai and was 'strictly into dick' as Sam put it. And he brushed it off as something he did because everything sucked at the time. They lost everyone, they lost  _Bobby._ And that last time, when Lucifer called him to break the warding? At that point, Dean had played the ifs and whens and maybes over and over in his head, what he'd say if-- when he met Cas again. He had a whole speech planned out, and he never got to say it.

Cas stirs, blinks awake, yawns and stretches. Then he sinks back down onto Dean's chest, wordlessly. Dean idly strokes his fingertips up and down Cas' neck, up to his hairline, down his spine, and back up.

They fit.

They belong.

Cas leans back, his head on Dean's shoulder. “Mornin', sunshine,” Dean smiles lopsided.

“Why do you always call me that?” Cas mumbles, sleepy and adorable.

“Because I can,” Dean smirks. “And you always look so scrunched up in the mornings. It's cute.”

“I find sleeping to be quite enjoyable, though the process of adjusting to being awake is... a process.”

With a chuckle, Dean pulls him close, tucks him under his chin, nose buried in sea water hair.

“Cas.”

“Hm.”

“I'm happy.”

“Me too.”

They stay like that for countless minutes, and Dean almost falls back asleep. Cas' hand is at his waist, a warm, welcome weight. Dean doesn't want to get up, doesn't want to think, doesn't want to face the day.

There's something he meant to ask, though, and he remembers. “Hey, Cas, quick question?”

“Yes?” Cas doesn't look up.

“When I was at my Mom's, yesterday. She said she was pretty sure that you said what you said before the Empty was summoned because you... didn't expect to ever be confronted with the consequences.”

Cas' voice is low and even when he answers, “Well, I thought I was going to die. The Empty was pretty clear when the deal was made – it would take me, forever, no second chances, no going back no matter how much I would annoy it.”

“So you just-- laid it out there for me to deal with, knowing you couldn't ever follow through anyway,” Dean says, quietly, without accusation in his voice. He remembers most vividly the sadness of the scene. To know you're loved and can't reciprocate, because time is running out, because that opportunity is taken from you five seconds later. That shit hurt.

Cas sighs. “If it would've been the last thing you'd have remembered about me, I would've been fine with this being it.”

“I... wouldn't have been,” Dean admits, once again hiding his face in Cas' hair. He takes a deep breath.

Cas kisses Dean's shoulder, feels that Dean isn't done yet, and lets him talk.

“I sat there on the floor, right where I ended up after you shoved me aside, for like. An hour or two. I don't know, I lost track of time. I cried a lot. Sam called, and I couldn't pick up, it was all too much. He was furious when I called him later, thought I was dead,” he huffs. “Of course he thought I was dead, it was right after _everyone_ had vanished on him.”

Cas hums, starts stroking Dean's hipbones, right at the seam of his boxers. It's comforting.

“I didn't know what to do, Cas,” Dean stares at the ceiling, and tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes as he re-lives the memory. “I didn't know how to go on. We lost everyone, that's one thing. But losing Eileen. Losing you. Why would I want to save the world at this point, even? Just to spite Chuck, on principle? And I know you did what you did so we had a shot at him.” Tears are making their way down his cheeks now, and he lets them flow freely into Cas' hair.

“You know, I--”

“I know, Cas,” his voice breaks.

Arms tighten around him as Cas curls into his side, trying to comfort him.

Dean doesn't need words, he knows. “You saved my life. Without your sacrifice, we wouldn't have made it. And--” he chokes, laughs through his tears. “To think that your love was what saved the day, that shit's poetic, you know.”

“I guess one could view it like that. Tell me, what did you do, afterwards? I want to know.”

Dean takes a deep breath, and this time, his voice is steadier, though his nose is still puffy and swollen from the tears. “Like I said, lost track of time. Then I called Sam. Didn't say much, just told him that I was alive and that I'd drive over to where they were. And of course they wanted to know where you were, so I told them. Not what you said, but that the Empty took you after you summoned it. That evening, I couldn't sleep, but um. Let's just say it's always like that after you--”

“After I die?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, clears his throat. “And so I did what I always do. Dunno how much I drank, but Sam found me sometime in the middle of the night, on the floor of the bunker's library. I slept, or, well, passed out, on a not-quite empty bottle of Scotch. Not my best moment, I admit.”

They stay in silence for a while, and as Dean tries to sort his thoughts, Cas waits.

“I didn't know how to grieve, you know. All the other times... I know Bobby said it once when I was in full-on denial after... the Leviathans. 'You just lost one of the best friends you've ever had.' So that's what I clung to. Best friend. Even though it never quite fit. But this time - it was so much worse. There was so much left to say, so much I wanted you to know. So much I knew I wouldn't ever get. Fuck, I missed you, it was like. Physical pain. And this is after I've been through this multiple times.”

“I'm so sorry.” The words are quiet, small, broken. When Cas looks up at Dean, he, too, has tears in his eyes.

Dean's heart breaks for both of them. “Don't be. It's not like it was your fault. What I'm trying to say is, um—” and all of a sudden, Dean is right back to flustered and teenage-girl-levels of awkwardness. It takes all his courage, all the reminders of what he has gone through, all the reminders of what Cas has gone through - everything spinning in his head ever since he came to heaven, to say it, but it needs to be said once and for all and Dean does not ever need to repeat it, okay? Okay. “I don't know when and I don't know how, but I fell in love with you years ago. I didn't notice, it just happened.”

That makes Cas smile through his tears that have started to flow freely now. “I know what that feels like, yes.”

“And I don't care what it means or if that gives me a label or whatever. It's always been you, for me. And I'm sorry it took us so long.” Dean tries to soothe him, cups his cheek, wipes the tears away with his thumb.

“Then again, we never had a better opportunity to really explore this, didn't we,” Cas replies, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “When would we ever have had time on earth to lay in bed like this.”

Dean chuckles. “Sock on the door and Sam would've left us alone, though he'd have given us shit for weeks if we missed out on a hunt because we were busy _cuddling_.”

“And hunts wouldn't have been much different. As often as we were used against each other already.”

Dean thinks about Demon #342 and thinks, of course - _the bad guys knew about us all along._ He huffs out a laugh.

“You know, Lucifer – when Chuck brought him back to fuck with us and Michael – he called, made it seem like it was you. Said you were outside of the bunker and hurt, asking me to let you in. And my brain just – short-circuited, I guess. I was up the stairs, had my whole speech memorized and,” Dean chuckles. “To be honest, if you would've been there, I'd have probably kissed you right then, right in front of Sam and I wouldn't have cared one bit. Imagine my face when friggin' Lucifer was all like 'whazzzzuuup'.”

Cas smiles a sad smile, his tears having dried now.

“I'm hungry,” Dean sighs. “This emotional stuff is pretty exhausting.”

Cas nods, then says, slow and deliberate. “Before we head to breakfast... Yes, it is, but I'm glad you told me, and I'm sure we both needed to get this out into the open, so thank you. Emotional vulnerability and honesty are key elements of a functioning relationship, you know.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Did you read one of those relationship guides?”

“Maybe,” Cas admits, looks almost shy. “Yes.”

“At least one of us does,” Dean chuckles. “But I know, okay. I'm trying.”

“Also, just to be very clear,” Cas states, rolls over, places his elbows on both sides of Dean's head, straddles his hips – and it's everything but sexual, actually.

Dean feels breathless with how intertwined they are, how gentle Cas' fingers in his hair are. The intimacy of it is still intimidating.

Cas looks him in the eye, unwavering, and quietly, seriously tells him, “I'm in love with you, too, Dean.”

Thing is, Dean knew that. Every possible conclusion about everything that had happened, about what Cas had said to him, has led up to this point. And right here, it's just stating the obvious.

As was, arguably, Dean telling Cas just that, because it was a logical conclusion as well. So as per usual, they're a couple of dumbasses, playing Captain obvious.

And yet, hearing it, spoken aloud, in that voice, is like a shiver, a warm mellow kind of feeling, curling in his heart. Sure, they're not the sentimental types, never will be. But to know and to hear are two different kind of emotions alright.

_Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just saying it._

And finally, Dean understands.

With a laugh, he wraps both arms around Cas neck and pulls him down, against his chest.

“Happiness might be in saying it, but it's even more so in the having,” Dean mumbles into Cas' ear, and Cas burrows into his shoulder, squeezing him tight. The lips against his neck are smiling, grinning.

There are no more words left to say.

When Cas pulls back, Dean winks, puts his foot against the mattress and flips them over. Cas' eyes go wide as he feels the tilt backwards, and before he can stop him, Dean puts a kiss to the corner of his lips, as close to not-kissing as he dares to go, and proceeds to roll out of bed in one motion. He gets up with a cackle and upon looking over his shoulder, finds Cas lying there, shellshocked.

“You okay there, Cas?” he laughs, half on his way to the closet, to pick out a shirt and a pair of jeans for later.

“I... think so, yes,” Cas rubs his face with one hand, then sits up. “Do you want to make breakfast, um, properly?”

“Yeah, that's way more fun,” Dean says. “You wanna help?”

“Sure, let's do that.”

In the kitchen, it's a mess of trying to find the pans and figuring out how the coffee machine works, but they make due. Dean cracks eggs into a skillet and finds Cas in front of the sink, blocking his way to the trash can. With no time and his hands full, he just bumps his hip into Cas' to move him aside, and Cas gets his revenge by moving Dean with both hands on his hips when he stands in front of the cutlery drawer a few minutes later. 

It only goes downhill from there, and by the time Dean gets both plates around Cas to put them on the breakfast table, they are chest to chest, smirking at each other. 

“Did you think I wouldn't notice that you're doing this on purpose,” Cas states, monotone, nonplussed, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“What?” Dean asks, shooting him an innocent look while reaching behind Cas' back to get the salt and pepper. Because he has to lean forward and around Cas, they are way too close to keep it together. Dean breaks first, grinning inevitably as Cas tilts his head at him, one eyebrow high on his forehead.

“If,” Cas starts, and with every word, pushes him a step back, his chest bumping into Dean's, “you – want – to – touch – me--”

Dean finds the kitchen counter digging into his lower back. He gulps because Cas, playful and sure of himself like this is making him feel all tingly inside.

Hands find his hips as Cas steps into his stance, thumbs digging against his hipbones right above the seam of his boxers, one leg between Dean's, not touching but being  _right there._ His heart is racing, and his palms are sweaty and Dean doesn't know hot to react, so he waits.

Cas leans in and Dean remembers that first night, in Bobby's kitchen - probably the first time he noticed how attractive Cas was, even though at the time he'd rather have eaten a roadkilled skunk and downed it with beer than to have admitted to that – and no, not even that thought can quell what's going on in his lower brain right now.

“Then just touch me,” Cas finishes, voice a deep rumble that goes straight down to where it matters. And if that wasn't enough, Cas grabs Dean's hand and puts it square on his ass.

They're still in pajamas and Cas smirks. Hot and cute and knowing exactly what he does to Dean. And Dean realizes that he is well and truly screwed. Not literally, not yet. But he's faced with a cunning angel of the lord who knows him too well, who knows too well how much of a tease Dean can be. It's mostly on himself, really, because he started this and he knows it.

Being faced with the consequences of his actions like this, though, has his brain zonking out. The obvious choice would be to play into Cas, to push him forward and rub his crotch against Dean's thigh, which,  _oh. No._

At this point, he'd probably come in his pants if he did that.

Dean breathes, tries to find his footing, and the worst part is, part of him just wants to sink to his knees and blow Cas right here and now, wants to see him lose his well-maintained composure that Dean has so often tried to toe around.

Damn it, they haven't even kissed yet and Dean is already thinking about sucking dick.

Cas' smirk turns even wider when he notices how out of his depth Dean is.

Part of him wants to go for honesty.

Part of him wants to tell Cas how hard he makes him, talk dirty to him until Cas is a blushing mess.

He goes for honesty. “Promise, I will.” And with an easy swipe, his hand on Cas' ass travels higher, under Cas' shirt, to the small of his back. His fingertips trail idle circles into the delicate skin around the bumps of Cas' spine. Before Dean pulls him in, he makes sure to rearrange their legs, danger zones being avoided as he leans into Cas' embrace. His arms come up around Dean's shoulders and then it's just them, hugging, in the kitchen, the sweet smell of scrambled eggs and bacon--

“Fuck, the bacon!” Dean realizes, untangles himself from Cas and turns around to find a few dangerously black strips in the pan.

Cas laughs, the fucker.

“Stop distracting me!” Dean scolds him, ladle in his hand, and shakes his head but chuckles. “Damnit, Cas.”

“Don't set our house on fire, please,” Cas grins, and because he is a little tease, he slaps Dean's ass on his way over to the fridge.

Dean, who has just picked up those sad pieces of charcoal out of the skillet, almost jumps. Almost. When had Cas become so daring?

Ah, yes, since Dean became increasingly daring. Again, kind of on him.

A few minutes later, they have edible bacon and fresh bread – snapped into existence because Cas wanted some.

Breakfast is quiet. Between eating and sipping coffee, Dean finds it soothing, to have this. Just sitting here, at the small breakfast table in front of the window, just the two of them, makes him beyond happy.

And there may be days when he enjoys having breakfast with his family, with Mary and John and eventually Sam, or brunch at the Roadhouse with Ellen and Jo and Ash, his other family. But this, here, with Cas, is his home.

Under the table, he bumps his feet against Cas' on accident while stretching his legs.

Cas leaves his shin right there, against Dean's leg, and his naked toe taps against Dean's heel.

Dean doesn't want to ask if Cas is playing footsie with him because that might end up in Cas pulling away and he kind of enjoys it.

So he enjoys it. Puts the toes of his other foot on Cas'.

That's when Dean's cellphone pulls them out of their perfect little morning routine. It vibrates across the table with Ellen's name on the screen.

“'ello?” Dean picks it up, some eggs still in his mouth.

“Dean, it's Ellen.”

“Morning.”

“Could you come over to the Roadhouse real quick? There's someone asking about Sam here. A hunter I don't know.”

Dean blinks. “Yeah, sure. Be there in ten.”

“Thanks. See you.”

With a frown, Dean hangs up. Stares at the phone, thinks.

Cas meets his eyes when he looks up. “Want me to come with you?”

Dean finishes off his plate, forks up the last of the eggs with his last strip of bacon. “If you want to?”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cas can only put up with a teasing Dean for so long. Sorry for the cliffhanger (guess who?), and not-sorry for the UST, I just have so much fun with this. ;-)  
> So, thoughts on Dean and his big revelation? It was a bit all over the place but I figured, well - _Dean is_ a bit allover the place there. Did it fit? Did you like it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean confesses to Cas that he is in love with him, too, and they get touchy in the kitchen. Someone appears at the Roadhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all so, so much for all your positive feedback, for all your comments and for following these two idiots along! Sometimes I'm just baffled by all the love. Thank you guys. Enjoy the next one!

Dean opens the door to the Roadhouse with Cas on his heels.

It takes him two seconds to scan the room and find Ellen sitting in one of the booths with a woman. She has her back to them, but Dean recognizes her immediately.

“Eileen!” he greets her, delighted, and only then notices his mistake.

Right, he's an idiot.

He strides over, steps up to the table and grins, so wide his cheeks hurt. “Hi Eileen,” he waves at her, and now that she can see Dean, her face goes from surprise to delight in .5 seconds.

“Dean! It's so good to see you!” she jumps to her feet and into his arms and Dean... has never felt weirder.

He's not one to have emotional connections to Sam's girlfriends, he realizes. He either despises them for some arbitrary reason (Amelia), hasn't ever spent a significant amount of time with them (Jess), they're dead (more than one) or a demon (Ruby, see also: dead).

And still, meeting Eileen again is a twist he did not see coming. A pleasant surprise. So Dean wraps his arms around her shoulders and holds her close. She seems spooked and still shaky.

“I'll let you guys catch up,” Ellen excuses herself with a smile and heads for the bar.

Dean gives her a grateful nod, then leans back so Eileen can read his lips. “What happened?”

She chuckles, waves for him to take a seat. “A lot. What do you mean?”

Only then does Cas step up and sit beside Dean in the booth.

Eileen's smile becomes impossibly wider as she clutches hear hands in front of her face. “Cas! You're alive! Oh that is... a relief.”

Dean blinks. Cas tilts his head, eyes squinting, and that's just way too adorable. Under the table, Dean rests his knee against Cas'.

That's when it all falls into place and Dean realizes. “So all this time, you didn't know that Cas was still alive?”

Eileen smiles through tears, shakes her head. “No, we thought he was in the Empty. In our time you both were gone for the past forty years.”

Dean rubs his hand over his chin and mouth. There's a pause in their conversation as they all wrap their minds around that. Forty years, Sam and Eileen thought Cas was gone.

“Jack got me out, as soon as he took over,” Cas clarifies, “I wasn't there for long. We proceeded to restructure heaven, teared down all the walls, made it new and whole again. It practically runs itself now, with some tweaks to the infrastructure.”

Eileen nods. “I'm so glad.”

Dean clears his throat. “Those few days, after Jack fixed the earth, after we beat Chuck,” he starts, “We looked everywhere for you, and we couldn't find you. We knew you were probably alive, but Sam--”  _almost lost his mind._

“I know,” Eileen shoots him a nonplussed look and a high eyebrow. “Sam took my car and he had my phone. I didn't have papers or cell phone numbers. Until I was organized enough to find my way back home and get a new phone and reached out to Jody for your numbers – when I got a hold of Sam, you were already dead, Dean.”

Dean swallows.

“Sam left the bunker, after burning your body. He never returned. We handed the key over to our son, Dean, when he turned 21. I showed him around the bunker. He'll take care of it.”

Thinking about the bunker makes Dean both nostalgic and sick to his stomach. So much good and bad connected to that place.

Some nights, during particularly bad dreams, he still sees himself kneeling over Cas, his face bloody and bruised. Dean's thoughts were spinning in circles between the punches he threw. The thought of Cain, saying, 'And then you'd kill the angel, Castiel. Now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful.' Because Cain knew what he was talking about. Cas, trying to stop him, telling him, 'I'm the who will have to watch you murder the world.' Throwing more unsatisfying punches. Unsatisfying because Cas didn't fight back. An angel blade glinting in the dim light of the reading lamps. Cas' hand around his wrist, holding on for dear life. And Dean still heard Cas' broken voice, the only word he needed to say to break Dean out of the rage that the Mark inflicted. 'Dean.'

Cas nudges his knee, pulling him out of the memory.

Dean nods, feeling uncomfortable. “That's great, thank you. At least there's still a Dean Winchester in charge.”

“Oh, Sam took my name when we got married,” Eileen winks.

For a second, Dean can only stare, before he a chuckle breaks out of him. “Of course he did. But you know, Sam Leahy? Doesn't sound half bad.”

“And it's not on the FBI's most wanted list,” Eileen wiggles her eyebrows.

“Yeah, well,” Dean nods, amused. “Small advantages. So did he ever go back to college?”

“Community college, got a business degree, selling himself way short – I told him so – but he worked a decent 9-to-5 office job afterwards. We weren't wealthy, but it was enough to live. We had our house and Dean could go to college and we were good.”

Dean nods, fidgets with his hands. Sam's absence at this table is glaringly obvious. For a moment, Dean contemplates reaching over to take Cas' hand and thing is – he could, he totally could. Eileen would be the last person to say anything about it. Still, they're kind of in public and Dean--

Cas leans into Dean's shoulder, and Dean smiles when their eyes meet. Ok, that works too. Dean knows it's his way of comforting Dean, signaling that he knows what's going on. They stay like that.

He has to change the subject. “So how did you die?”

“In my sleep,” Eileen says, gesturing to her head, signing as she talks. “An aneurism or something. All I know is I went to sleep next to Sam and woke up here.”

“Yeah, I crashed here at the Roadhouse, too, when I arrived,” Dean nods. “A lot of hunters do.”

“We haven't been hunting for... twenty years, at least,” Eileen ponders.

“That long? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you got out,” Dean clarifies.

Eileen nods, shrugs. “Dean, when I died I was 78 years old. We had a happy, long life together. Sure, we still went on a hunt – occasionally. When people needed us, for backup, or just some in-and-out easy cases.”

“I died on an in-and-out easy case,” Dean huffs amused. “But I get what you mean. I'm glad you got your apple pie life. How's Sam?”

“That's... the thing. That bothers me. I did not expect to be here before him.”

Dean waits.

“He's fighting cancer, has been for years now, but he's 83. I was so prepared to have to watch him die,” and she blinks away tears, sniffles. “I didn't think I would be first.”

Cas produces a handkerchief out of nowhere and hands it over.

Eileen blows her nose and takes a deep breath. “I knew I had to live without him sooner than later, but not like this.”

Cas grabs her hand across the table, squeezes it. “He'll be here soon enough.”

That thought, as right as it is, makes Dean excited. “When I got here, Bobby told me, time works different up here. I've only been here for four days.”

“But... you've been dead for forty years,” Eileen says, in wonder.

Dean nods. “Jep.”

“So you think Sam will...?”

“If he's already sick, and now that he lost you...” Dean trails off. Poor Sam. No matter how much he looks forward to seeing him again, it hurts to know that his brother is currently dying and there's nothing he can do about it... and yet.

Four days. He's been here for four days.

What are four days compared to forty years Sam spent without him on earth?

That's when Dean realizes something else. “Wait, couldn't you, like – I mean, this  _is_ heaven – couldn't you wish for like, your hearing to come back?” Dean asks Eileen.

She just shrugs. “Maybe. But honestly? I'm not used to a world full of noise. I'm fine with this. It's what I know how to manage.”

Dean returns her smile, then shouts over to the bar, “Hey Ellen, can we get some whiskey over here?”

“Go get it yourself!” Ellen yells back, and Dean rolls his eyes. “And don't roll your eyes at me, boy!”

“Damn,” Dean mumbles under his breath, but gets up to do so.

They toast, to life and heaven and getting the gang back together, soon.

“So where do you live, here? How does this work?” Eileen asks.

Since Dean has his glass at his lips, sipping delicious Laphroig, Cas answers, “You have a place. It's wherever you want it to be. It's whatever you want it to be.”

“How do I find it?”

Dean smiles. “Since you were married to my brother for what, 40 years?”

Eileen ducks her head, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “38.”

“I have a pretty good guess where it is,” Dean winks. “You wanna go now? Or should we have another?”

“I could use another drink,” she says. “Can you explain to me a bit more about how this works?”

So Dean snaps another round of whiskey into existence and gets her up to speed. Beside him, Cas is silently listening, his thigh pressed against Dean's, shoulders bumping every so often.

“Okay,” Eileen takes it all in, takes another swig of her whiskey, the last of it. “I think we can head out now.”

Dean waves at Ellen to tell her they are leaving, and when he heads outside, he finds Eileen standing in front of the Impala with huge eyes. “The license plate is different,” she says.

With a smug chuckle, Dean comes up next to her. “Correction, that's the _original_ license plate.”

“It is?” Eileen walks along the car, trails her fingers over the A-pillar and along the roof. “We had her in our garage for decades. Both of us knew we wouldn't ever sell this car. Sam told Dean all about it, and Dean has been nagging at us forever about finally getting it handed down. Sam was always like, 'When I die and don't know what you're doing with it, then you can have it'.”

Dean grins. “Yeah, I can see that. Come on! Hop in, you're giving directions.”

Cas opts for the back seat without a second thought. He's probably as curious as Dean at this point.

“How do I know where you should go?” Eileen asks.

“You'll know, trust me,” Dean smiles. “The road here always leads to where you want to go.”

He turns the keys in the ignition and the Impala roars to life, squeaks when he puts her into reverse.

Even though she can't hear neither of these sounds, Eileen taps her fingers on the interior, along the dashboard. “I love this car. I wish we'd have driven it more, but Sam kept it like a treasure.”

That makes Dean grin. “Well, she _is_ a treasure, my baby. I'm glad he took good care of her.”

They head out on the road, and Eileen gets the hang of it soon enough. Dean is not the least bit surprised to find that she leads them home.

When they roll down the narrow back road to his and Cas' house, the woods open up sooner than they did before, and just a small ways up the street, there's a house, before theirs.

Out of nowhere.

Not door-to-door, but close enough to head over for lunch within a few minutes. Perfect.

Eileen's eyes go wide and watery. “Yes, this is it,” she signs. “Our house.”

Dean parks in front of the driveway, curbside. “It's a nice house.”

“It was a fixer-upper, we poured six months of hard work into it, all by ourselves. Do you want to come inside?”

Looking at her, Dean wonders what to say.

It's Cas, from the backseat, taking initiative to break the silence. “Can we show you something before that?”

Dean rests his elbow on the backrest as he turns, finds blue eyes with an amused spark. Cas tilts his head, up the road. Dean nods.

Having watched their exchange curiously, Eileen nods, signs an Ok.

Dean puts the Impala back into gear and she rocks and sways her way back onto the road.

“Which house is this?” Eileen asks and turns to Dean. “Yours?”

“Cas' and mine,” Dean replies with a tiny smile, tries not to sound too smug. Though he does notice that every time the subject comes up, he becomes more confident saying it.

Eileen takes in the house, the garden. “I see. So. You two--”

The sign she makes is not ASL, but Dean gets it. One thumb and index finger forming an O, the index finger of the other hand going through, back and forth. She grins a wicked grin to go along with the lewd gesture, too. Dean throws his head back with a surprised, roaring laugh and honest joy. “Kinda,” he wheezes.

“It was about time,” Eileen winks. “So, do you want to come over?”

Dean blinks, but figures. Of course Eileen guessed. “Do you want us there? Are you sure you don't want to settle in by yourself first?”

_Take your time,_ is what Dean tries to imply.

“I'd like your company. It shouldn't be too long until Sam--” she breaks off, stares out the window.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, tries to make out the lake behind the trees. There's a flutter in his stomach.

So while Cas goes on patrol, they hang out in Sam's and Eileen's living room, as it once was, without Sam's special care bed. Eileen shows them albums and albums full of pictures of Dean Jr., of him growing up, playing baseball in middle and high school – catcher, the brainy type, like his dad, she says – graduation, prom, his first driving lesson in their car, and in the Impala, looking two seconds away from crapping his pants. “They only started her in the garage, never even got her into reverse,” Eileen laughs.

Dean notices the anti-possession tattoo on younger Dean's forearm as he grew up. He taps the picture, twice. “You didn't raise him to be a hunter, did you?”

“No, we both didn't want him to be,” Eileen shakes her head. “We raised him to know how to defend himself. Sam took him on a ghost case, once, to show him what it's like. But after that, he didn't do much more than man the FBI phone Sam had plugged up for other hunters to call.”

_The family business,_ Dean thinks, proud. It lives on.

He drinks coffee with Eileen in the kitchen and they make idle small talk. They have pasta for dinner and reminisce about old cases and the bunker.

They uncap two beers and sit on the couch and watch a french gore movie with subtitles. The kind of movie that Cas doesn't enjoy because he sees and points out every flaw the story has. Not that the story is relevant to enjoy a movie like that. Eileen shares his weird fascination for bad horror movies.

Cas returns sometime after 9 p.m.

“Do you think Sam will even show up today?” Eileen sounds defeated as she picks at the label of her empty beer bottle.

“I don't think so,” Cas sighs, ever the voice of reason. “Typically, people show up at daytime. It seems to be human nature.”

Eileen nods. “I hoped he'd be here... soon. But I guess I can wait another night.”

“You'll be alright,” Dean gives her a consoling smile, pats her shoulder. “Hey, come over for breakfast tomorrow?”

Eileen sniffles. “Sorry, yes, I'd like that.”

Dean wraps her up in his arms. He makes sure to lean back before he says, “I know. I miss him, too.”

With a warm smile – because if anyone knows what it means to have Sam in his life for 40 years and suddenly _not_ – it's her. “Goodnight, guys,” she waves to them, at the door.

Cas and Dean bid her good night and walk down the street to their house in silence.

The forest isn't eery, surprisingly, for Dean. They've been out in the woods at night for more than one hunt. Best case scenario, they returned home after a job well done with a haphazardly cleaned knife. Worse – not worst - case, they were scratched and banged up pretty bad, at least one of them had a dislocated shoulder, the other one had rope welts at the wrists, and Dean had at least a piece of non-human flesh stuck in his hair. Worst case and woods instantly bring up images of purgatory, always on the run, looking for Cas. Desperate prayers at night. Missing him like missing a limb.

But he's here now, walking beside Dean.

They take their time, because they can.

Dean looks up at the stars, towards the one place he only ever looked at when digging up graves, exhausted, right before they took the shovel to the coffin to salt and burn some bones.

The half moon is just enough to be clearly visible through the treetops, but not too bright to dull out the stars around it. Dean can see constellations, tries to name them, spots the north star when Cas grabs his hand.

He smiles at the Great Wagon.

The road is just like all the roads, in heaven. Long enough to enjoy the walk and the stars and Cas being here, but short enough to not arrive completely chilled to the bone.

9 p.m. is still too early to sleep, they decide, and so they watch the rest of the second Winnetou movie. They don't talk much, high-strung with anticipation.

Sam doesn't show.

Dean falls asleep on Cas' shoulder, in Cas' arms.

He wakes up in Cas' arms.

They lie in bed for an hour and just talk, about Sam, and Rowena, about hell and Jack, about Chuck and Crowley. Cas spends most of it running his hands over Dean's naked back, and Dean finds himself trailing his fingers over Cas' stomach, under his shirt, tracing muscles and a few coarse hair – not following where they lead – and hipbones. If someone would've told him that Cas has hipbones sharper than any vamp's fangs-- not following that thought, either.

After they get up and get dressed, Dean runs his hand through Cas' hair, tells him, “I like it when you look like you just rolled out of bed.”

Cas ducks his head, smiles, “You look very attractive all the time.”

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he slaps Cas' ass and gets a squinty death-glare in return.

Eileen promptly shows up at the door, and they have an animated conversation over scrambled tofu, avocado on toast and fresh fruit because of course, Eileen and Sam went vegan shortly after they got married.

“Look, it's healthier _and_ better for the environment _and_ no animal has to suffer and die, so it was an easy choice.”

Dean doesn't want to admit that the scrambled tofu really tastes like scrambled eggs. He makes a face but gets seconds anyways.

“But we're in heaven now so you can have the real thing without dying from cholesterol, right? And I don't think any animal dies for the stuff you get here – I mean, it's heaven! - so why not?”

“It's what I'm used to. And it's yummy,” she points out.

Dean doesn't argue her point any more, even though he kind of looks forward to all the vegan jokes he can pull on Sam when he gets here.

“Also go easy on Sam, he's probably heard every vegan joke ever from his co-workers already.”

_ Damnit. _

Cas refills their coffee and when he sits down, Dean finds a little comfort tangling his foot with Cas' under the table.

Above the tabletop, Cas shoots him a tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it smile.

Sam doesn't show up until they are well into lunch-time.

And once again, Dean notices how fidgety Eileen gets when she notices, when there's a lull in conversation and she becomes aware of the fact.

“Cas, when are you going on your rounds?” Dean asks to fill the silence.

Cas shrugs. “Whenever, I'm not on a schedule.”

“I'll head over to the Roadhouse sometime in the afternoon, I promised Ellen to help out on the weekends,” Dean nods. “Just so you know where to find me.”

“I'll stop by then. Are you looking forward to it?”

Dean looks at the coffee cup in his hands, finds himself smiling. “Yeah. It's what I always wanted.”

“Have fun,” Cas says, reaches over to squeeze his hand. “If you two don't mind, I'll go have a quick look around right now. What's done is done, and I'll see you later?”

“Sure,” Eileen waves, signs a Goodbye.

“Bye,” Dean mutters, lifts the hand that is still entwined with Cas', and kisses the back of his hand. 

Cas turns adorably flustered and leaves half a second later.

“You two are... sweet,” Eileen comments. “I never would've guessed.”

Dean swallows at that. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates for a few long seconds. “I knew you and Cas were close. I guessed it was... like this. To see it, how much you love each other, that's great.”

“Thank you,” Dean quirks his eyebrows. “I guess.”

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Dean.”

Dean looks up at her, then. “I know.”

“But you're...?”

“Still getting used to it.”

“Is it this new?”

Good question, really. Is it? Dean thinks about it. It's all he's thinking about, all day, every day, since he got to heaven. When did this start with Cas? And does it even matter because he knows now and Cas knows now and at least, this part is new. “Yes,” he says.

They chat for a while about all kinds of stuff, and when Dean heads to the Impala to drive to the Roadhouse, he notices a few dings and scratches, a patch of rust that needs grinding and painting. He looks forward to tackling that when he has the time.

***  
  
The Roadhouse is  _packed._

Now Dean knows why Ellen said she could use a helping hand on the weekends.

The noise level is one thing, the music the other, and Dean is busy, non-stop serving drinks and pouring beer from the tap and the permanent smile just won't leave his lips. He's in his element.

Sam still hasn't shown but this, distraction, it's good. Dean thrives, his blood thrums with the beat of CCR and he rips his knuckles against the counter.  _Run through the jungle, run through the jungle..._

Ellen shouts over from the other end of the bar, grabbing for two cans of Red Bull from the fridge without looking, pushing it closed with her heel. “Dean, can you get two burgers real quick?”

“Aye!” he salutes at her, then ducks around the pass-through to put together the Roadhouse special.

It took Jo barely an hour this afternoon to show him the ropes and where everything was and if he didn't know how to do some kind of cocktail, he could leave it to her or wing it. It _is_ heaven after all, so no need to lug beer crates around or be a perfect cocktail mixer – snapping it will always work.

It's about the experience, Ellen had said.

Yeah, Dean can do that.

He wipes his hands on a towel, cleans the plates around the burgers from where some of the meat juices dripped around it, then heads out to serve them.

To Bobby and Rufus.

“Look who's making himself useful,” Rufus chuckles. “How are ya doing, Dean?”

“Good,” Dean grins. 

“And how is it that you haven't been over yet?”

“Because literally everyone wants me to come see them, I've been busy, ok?” Dean replies without malice.

Bobby gives him an enigmatic look. “Busy doing something else, I believe, too, huh,” he drawls. “Or, someone else.”

Dean throws his hands up. How does everyone just... know?

And if so, why should he even bother denying anything, in that case?

“Sue me,” he snarks, rolling with it. 

“Just saying, you look hella happy, boy,” Bobby nods. “It's a good look on a miserable bastard like you.”

Dean just thanks him and gets back to work. He's too sober to deal with a tipsy, talkative Bobby right now, although he does make a mental note to visit him some time next week.

An hour or two later – and Dean completely lost track of time, in the most positive way possible – he finally catches a breather and finds himself standing next to Jo against the shelf that holds the hard liquors, behind the counter. Jo reaches behind his back and pours them both a finger of whiskey.

“Good work, Winchester,” she teases him as they toast. “Gotta say, you know your way around.”

And what is it with people complimenting him today. Dean's poor heart can't take it.

“It's fun,” is what he ends up answering. When he looks down at her, they share a small smile.

“It is,” she nods.

They stare at the row of people at the bar, everybody talking and having a good time. A guy motions Dean over, asks for five shots of Tequila, so Dean pours Tequila and accepts one for himself, too. He barely had time to take a sip of water in-between orders, much less get hammered.

“So Sam's wife is already here,” Jo says, and it's more of a question. “Mom said she was already of old age when she died. Shouldn't that mean that Sam will, you know, die soon too?”

Dean huffs. “I guess. I don't know. And trust me, we've all been waiting. Eileen is patient, or she tries to be. But I dunno, if I was dead for 40 years and have been here 4 days, then Sam must be, what, 130 years old now?”

“Time moves different,” Jo shrugs. “Looks like something's at work, here.”

Dean frowns at her, thinks about her words but comes up blank. “What should be at work?”

She shrugs again, more pronounced this time. “It's the heaven we deserve. But sometimes it doesn't give us everything we want, sometimes things work out for us because we subconsciously wanted them, right?”

For the life of him, Dean has no idea what she's talking about. Well, he does understand what she's saying, but he can't figure out what it means, for him, or Sam and Eileen, at the moment.

There's a familiar face popping up at the end of the bar, and Dean hangs his head in relief.

He puts his empty glass down and strolls over, an easy swing to his hips as he wipes his hands on his towel and puts his most charming smile on.

“Hi there, handsome,” he winks, leaning with his elbow on the bar. “Come here often?”

Cas tilts his head and squints up at him, blue eyes hidden in the dim light. Confusion looks cute on him. “Um. Yes?”

Dean laughs, a feeling that just spreads with how much he enjoys seeing Cas here, being in his presence. Wordlessly, he puts the most frilly, sweet, pineapple-and-coconut-milk-cocktail in front of Cas that he can remember from the top of his head.

“Hold up a minute,” he points at Cas, who's already slurping from his straw with a pleased nod.

In the kitchen, Dean throws together a double cheeseburger, and puts that in front of Cas just as matter-of-factly. “Figured that would make you happy,” he offers, smiles to disarm Cas' irritation.

Cas picks up the burger and takes a hefty bite. It's not pretty. There's a piece of salad at the corner of Cas' lips as he chews and talks at the same time. “It _does_ make me happy. Thank you, Dean.”

He has no taste, indeed.

“Get over there and go eat with your boyfriend,” Jo grouses. “You're just in my way if you just keep standing here, ogling him. Or get a room, for fuck's sake.”

“Do I hear jealousy, Joanna Beth?” Dean shoots right back.

“Oh, hell no,” Jo cackles. “Don't get me wrong, I'm not questioning your taste in men, I'm questioning his.”

Dean splutters. “Excuse you, I'm a delight to have around.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jo grins. “And since when do you play for the other team, by the way?”

Dean swallows, eyes scanning the bar for someone who might let him delay this question with a good excuse or an order of ten different cocktails, at least, please. But, the crowd has thinned out some, and no one saves him. “I don't,” he says. “Don't try to label me, ok? Cas is just Cas.”

“Mmhm,” Jo nods, comically slow. “I hear you.”

Dean thinks it's weird, but then Jo's eyes flicker to a place behind him, over his shoulder, turn wide when she tracks the person walking up. Before Dean notices what happens, she's around the bar and hugging the living hell out of Charlie.

The music and the crowd is too loud to hear anything, but Dean bets that was a 'Hello, bitches,' that Charlie greeted them both with. And now the two whisper into each other's ear, hands at shoulders, waists, touching. That hug surely takes longer than strictly necessary.

Huh.

Interesting.

Then Charlie is right there, hugging him, hugging Cas – whose hands are full of BBQ sauce and ketchup and pickle juice and he holds them to the side and up like the Sphinx and it's gloriously awkward. Dean almost snorts out his mouthful of water.

He quickly notices that Jo and Charlie combined are a disaster waiting to happen. There's constant giggles and inside jokes and he can't keep up, so he tunes them out.

He looks at Cas, and Dean knows he's hiding a smile behind his seemingly neutral facade.

Sometime after 1 a.m., Dean makes himself a cheeseburger and does, in fact, sit down next to Cas to eat. It's the only time he sits during his eight hours of manning the bar, until he's done at 3.30 a.m. and dead on his feet.

Cas zaps them home, and they fall into bed and into each other's arms immediately. Sleep comes easy, that night.

***

On Saturday morning, Dean wakes up to the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs.

Cas is standing at the stove, clad only in boxers and an apron and somehow, that pushes quite a few of Dean's buttons. He clears his throat to not surprise Cas – he does handle scorching hot kitchen tools, after all – as he approaches him from behind. His hands find Cas' love handles easily, and Dean pushes close to kiss the side of his neck.

When he turns around to plate the eggs, Cas smiles.

Still, no sign of Sam.

Dean doesn't get it.

For the moment, though, he's good. He has Cas and delicious food and Cas is half-naked in their kitchen. He likes where this is going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me popping in and out of the comment section - I love hearing your thoughts! To those of you who said Eileen: bingo :D I hope you enjoyed seeing her again, now let's see when Sam pops up.  
> Also, in case anyone wonders, I really do write and put up these chapters in real time. When one is done, I put it up, then write the next.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Eileen arrives in heaven, but Sam is a no-show. Dean works his first shift at the Roadhouse and flirts shamelessly with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, folks, buckle up, strap in, this one's a ride. (Note that it picks off right where chapter 7 left off!)

Cas smells like honey and sea salt and clean sweat and Dean cannot get enough of it.

He doesn't know why or why  _now_ in particular, maybe it's the whole Cas-in-boxers-and-an-apron-and-nothing-else thing, and maybe it's just the fact that he's in love with the guy.

But he noses against Cas' neck again as soon as he has the pan back on the stove, and trails his hands along the seam of Cas' boxers and just wallows in the smell of Cas all around him.

“Dean,” Cas notes. “If you want breakfast, stop distracting me.”

Dean hums, low in his throat. Does he want breakfast? Maybe distracting Cas is more fun.

His pulse spikes and his cock certainly takes note of the fact that he's feeling Cas up. His hand slides lower, fingers spread out on Cas' stomach as Dean leans in closer, his chest to Cas' back, and kisses a line across Cas' neck. Cas tilts his head, gives Dean more access, and there's a silent sigh escaping his lips. He tries to conceal it, but Dean feels it – against his chest, against his hand. There's a nervous flutter, in his fingertips, in his limbs, in the pit of his stomach, and Dean grins against Cas' skin.

To get to do this, it's more than a privilege.

“ _Dean,”_ Cas says again, more urgent this time. He puts the skillet aside and shuts the stove off before he turns around, Dean's hands slipping from his hipbones with the movement.

His lips are redder than normal, like he bit down on them, Dean notices. He can't stop staring at them. To distract himself, he leans in to go for Cas' neck again. That's safe, that's what he has allowed himself to do for now. Also, Cas facing him means lots and lots more naked skin to explore on his back.

Dean tries another thing.

He nibbles at Cas' collar bone because it's right there under his lips.

Cas moans.

And Dean has to pause, close his eyes, and focus on his breathing, because apparently he's a teenager again. Cas' moan will haunt him, and he knows it. That deep, unabashed growl, straight from the deepest part of his lungs, went all the way to Dean's bones, that's how much he felt it.

“Cas,” he croaks out, runs his hands up Cas' bare back, wraps his fingers around his shoulders.

They're so close. Cas' head drops to Dean's shoulder, and Dean uses the opportunity to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck.

“That feels so good,” Cas sighs again, quietly, this time, and Dean feels his lips pressing to his shoulder, right at the junction to his neck, right at his pulse point.

He is so turned on it's not even funny any more.

But he finds himself here without a clue of what to do. Sure, he has a general understanding of how gay people have sex, but that was always so far removed from any of his experiences. That was things others did, never him. It never came up, it was never relevant.

Cas' lips wander up his neck, to his earlobe, teeth closing around it without pressure. There's stubble against his beard, just scratching along.

Dean gasps.

He's so out of his depth, he doesn't know what to do, where to start, and yes, he has really reverted back to being a teenager. He certainly feels as nervous. His hands seem to have started a life of their own, cradling Cas' neck, fingers in his hair. They slide closer, as if there even was any room left between them in the first place.

Cas is hard in his boxers, too, and they line up perfectly against each other.

Panting, Dean leans in, rests his forehead against Cas'.

He keeps his eyes firmly shut. What would he see, if he opened them right now? Cas, looking as wrecked as Dean feels, blue eyes drowned out by his wide pupils, lips slack and spit-slick and--

Dean has to look, despite everything he tells himself.

Cas' eyes are closed, a frown dips his eyebrows, but his lips are exactly like Dean thought. Full and red and shining and Dean knows that if he kisses him right now, something will happen, and it will happen all at once and he doesn't want to break the spell they're under.

Next to his erect dick, just three layers of cloth between them, Cas' cock twitches.

Dean breathes out a groan. He'd never thought it'd feel like this.

Cas buries his face in Dean's neck, presses closer. The movement makes their hips shift, makes them rub together in a new angle, and it's delicious and sweet and Dean _can't_ _think._

Can't think beyond Cas, in his arms, can't think beyond his own hands, clutched around Cas' shoulders. Dean puts his feet apart, lines them up properly, grinds his thigh between Cas' legs as Cas meets his every move with a tilt of his hips.

A shiver runs through Cas, from head to toe, and Dean feels his heart skip a beat. God, he's so nervous. His hands are sweaty. Cas' hands drop to his ass, grabbing him, urging him closer, just closer.

“Are we doing this?” Cas asks between harsh breaths, right into Dean's ear, and his voice does things to Dean, as does the moan around his name that follows.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” is all Dean can manage in a rush as he grinds against Cas, as he buries his nose in his hair. That smell, it's intoxicating. He bites the shell of Cas' ear because he knows how Cas appreciates it.

Shit, are they having sex? They haven't even kissed yet!

Part of Dean's brain shuts down.

Don't overthink it, his rational side says.

Or maybe it's the part of his brain that is currently too busy being flooded with hormones as he dry-humps Cas against the kitchen counter. Their bodies roll together in a fluent wave of need and desire and pleasure and he can't stop, won't stop. He won't second-guess this. He knows that if he doesn't give in now, he'd hate himself for it later.

So he lets it happen. Lets his body do what it craves, allows the shudder to zip down his spine as Cas sucks at the skin on his neck.

He feels it, building like a coil in his lower abdomen, and he lets it.

“Cas,” he says, his voice dropping, breaking. _“Cas.”_

Cas' hand comes up to the small of his back, and the pressure intensifies as Cas just keeps him right where he is, perched on Cas' thick thigh. The grinding becomes pressure, in slow, small circles, and Dean gives. He can't.

The moan that rips out of him is unexpected and all-encompassing. For a moment, he sees stars as he feels himself tip over the edge, coming in his underwear.

He has just enough presence of mind left to open his eyes and watch Cas come, too. Dean struggles to find words for what he's feeling, but then again, he's still riding the high of his orgasm.

Cas is _beautiful._

Beautiful, the way his head falls back and his blue eyes fall shut, the way his lips part around a silent groan, the way his body shakes with every twitch of his dick against Dean's thigh.  _Beautiful, just beautiful,_ Dean thinks, when Cas opens his eyes again. They are glassy and unfocused.

He grins like the Cheshire cat, can't help it.

Cas is still panting and Dean is still trying to come down from this particular rush.

The wet patch in his underwear starts to become uncomfortable.

And yet, when Cas slumps against him, Dean catches him, cradles him in his arms.

Holy shit, he just had sex with a guy.

And not just any guy, but Castiel, angel of the lord.

Though, when Dean looks at him, there's nothing angel-y about him, the way he leans against Dean's shoulder with his hair tousled and his lips looking like the definition of sinful. Dean scratches his nails up and down Cas' spine lazily, basking in the afterglow.

He just had sex with a guy.

Sure, it wasn't much, all above the clothes, and there's no immediate fear or anxiety welling up inside him. He's okay. No big gay crisis.

Somehow, sometime along the way, touching Cas turned into cuddling with him on the sofa, on the bed, turned into hands finding their way under shirts, turned into _this._ Somehow, it's easy for Dean. Hook-ups he knows how to do. Casual touch, getting each other off without an emotional connection, no problem. Some of his one night stands never even kissed him, and he didn't mind.

Cas isn't a one-time thing and he surely isn't a hook-up, though.

It's not like he doesn't know that it's the emotional connection that makes all the difference here.

At least they could blow off some steam. Dean feels it in his bones, feels some of the tension seep out of him. When he looks at Cas, he can see the sentiment mirrored in him.

Cas stirs, straightening to his full height. “We should get cleaned up, this is rather uncomfortable,” he states, fingers tugging at his boxers.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles, grabs Cas' hand and pulls him towards the bathroom.

“Dean, we could just--” Cas starts as they head into the hallway.

“I know,” Dean turns around and decides that now would be a good time to push Cas up against the wall. He leans in, brushes his lips over the shell of Cas' ear when he whispers, “Trust me, you don't want to snap this away.”

When he leans back, Dean wiggles his eyebrows.

Cas snorts out a laugh, then pushes Dean off with his chin high and eyes blazing, and heads for the bathroom, losing the apron along the way. Dean watches, mesmerized, as he walks behind him. Now that's a sight for sore eyes.

While Cas uses the shower, Dean goes to fetch them new clothes – for Cas, too.

When he re-enters the bathroom to brush his teeth as he waits, he hears Cas grumble, “It sticks like glue.”

“Yep,” Dean smirks.

And because teasing Cas is the most wonderful part of all of this, he spits out his mouthful of toothpaste, drops his soaked underwear and joins Cas under the shower.

“Need some help?” he offers, as Cas fixes him with a wide-eyed look. Dean can't help it, he's grinning from ear to ear.

“Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes.

“Present.”

“No, I don't need your help, I know how to operate a shower.”

Dean smirks, steps under the spray, then gets his own shower gel. His eyes never stray from Cas' as he lathers himself in foam, hands roaming over his pecs, his stomach, down to the patch of sticky, coarse pubic hair.

Cas watches, unabashed.

Dean runs his hand over his flaccid dick, once, twice, then steps under the shower head again, tilts his head back and closes his eyes as he rinses off. He blinks to see what Cas is doing and finds him gone.

Part of him is disappointed. After he washed his hair and toweled off, Dean sees Cas in their bedroom, getting dressed.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks, slightly worried. Did he overdo it?

Cas doesn't look at him as he buttons up his shirt – Dean's shirt, again, a dark, black and blue plaid shirt. It takes a second until he turns around, and his expression is unreadable.

“Let's talk about it over breakfast,” Cas suggests, then leaves the room.

He's not pissed, that much Dean knows for sure. But he seemed irritated, which is not what Dean was going for when he hopped under the shower with him.

The breakfast table is set when he returns to the kitchen, dressed, though with his hair still wet and sticking up in wild spikes. Cas sits in front of his full plate and waits for him.

Dean sits down and digs in. Truth is, he's slightly nervous, and he doesn't quite know what Cas is going to say.

He does not expect a gravely, “Tell me what's on your mind.”

A short cough and a sip of coffee later, Dean answers, “Regarding us or what do you mean?”

“Regarding us.”

Dean sighs. “You pissed or something?”

“No, just... confused. I was under the impression that most humans would prefer a socially constructed, rarely modified order in their process of dating someone.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not most humans,” Dean shrugs, understanding now what irks Cas. “You asking why we just got off together, got naked together, know about each other's feelings, and yet I struggle with... simpler things?”

With a nod, Cas drinks his coffee.

“Honestly? No idea,” Dean admits, voice quiet, not meeting Cas' eyes. “Do you think I ever _really_ dated anyone? Dude, I have no idea what I'm doing. You know how the thing with Lisa ended, and that was not a classic dating story to begin with.”

“I understand that sex comes easier to you, because of your former preferences in fulfilling your sexual needs,” Cas states.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, maybe that's part of it. Maybe that-- what just happened, I let it happen, to see what it feels like, to see how we can work with that in the future. I mean, it's fun, isn't it? Trying out new stuff. I'm damn curious.”

Cas smiles at him, reassuringly, and it takes a load off Dean's mind. “Me too, actually. It felt certainly more intense than I anticipated.”

With a nod, Dean tangles his foot around Cas' under the table.

Cas' smile twitches into a grin. “You like doing that.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“So we're good?”

Cas sighs. “Of course.”

They eat in silence for a while, until a thought just won't leave Dean's mind and he has to ask. “But it takes two to tango, so. Did I come on too strong just now? You seemed kind of... irritated, in the shower. Where're you at?”

An enigmatic little smile works its way onto Cas' lips. “No, you did not come on too strong. I've thoroughly enjoyed what we did. I wasn't irritated so much as – well, no, I _was_ irritated, because you can be so daring and confident in what you do, in how you just – push me against a wall to whisper something into my ear, and that is arousing and you know it.”

_Guilty as charged,_ Dean thinks amused.

“And every time you do, I keep thinking that you'll finally kiss me and you never do. So yes, I was irritated _and_ _then_ you undress and surprise me in the shower,” Cas grouses, throws his hands up and Dean...

Dean just laughs. It just breaks out of him, a deep, roaring laughter, from the pit of his stomach. “I'm sorry, Cas,” he wheezes. “I swear, I'm not playing with your feelings here.”

“You're just getting used to being in love with a male person, yes, I get it,” Cas nods, only a bit exasperated. “That doesn't mean I don't want to kiss you. Because I want to, a lot. When you're ready, of course.”

Ducking his head, Dean scratches the back of his neck, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He wished he could. Well, he probably could, if he wanted to. He could get over it and just do it but – there's this little voice in the back of his head that wants to wait for it. For the right moment, the right situation. “You'll know when I am,” is what he says, in the end. “You'll know when the time is right.”

“Okay,” Cas stares at him, before averting his eyes – looking defeated, for now, but also hopeful. “But don't get me wrong, I'm not bothered by the sex, of course not.”

“Well, technically--” Dean starts with a lopsided grin, but Cas waves him off.

“I know.”

“First base.”

Cas frowns. “Technically, it's not anything less just because we didn't have penetrative sex, Dean.”

And oh, the words 'penetrative sex' out of Cas' mouth should not be as hot and bothering as they are. Dean swallows. “I didn't mean to uh, talk it down. It was our first time together, after all.”

“Exactly. It's a form of intimacy. What I meant to tell you was that I'm happy you feel comfortable enough around me to go this far.”

“You make it sound like it was so difficult,” Dean corrects him. “It wasn't, not at all. It just fell into place and it felt good.”

That seems to be a relief for Cas, and they don't talk about the subject any more.

***  
  
“What are you up to?” Dean asks when Cas shows up with work gloves and a straw hat.

“Gardening,” Cas says, and of course, he could've guessed that.

So for the rest of the morning, Dean sits on their porch swing and watches Cas pull weeds in their back yard, watches him water plants and cut the roses. It's serene, watching him work. He texts Eileen in-between, asks how she's doing (fine), if Sam has shown up yet (no), what she's doing for lunch (nothing fancy, but she wants to be alone). He talks to his Mom on the phone, and when Cas notices, he mouths, 'Mary?' at Dean, so Dean nods. Cas waves, then turns back towards his roses. “Cas says Hi,” he relays, and after accepting the reciprocated wishes, he swallows and asks, “So how did Dad take the news?”

Mary hesitates. He hears footsteps and thinks that she's maybe going to another room, to not be overheard. It only makes him more nervous. “I think he's still processing,” Mary sighs. “You're a different man now, different from when he knew you and he already has a hard time dealing with that. Never mind the fact that you brought home a guy.”

Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, Dean sighs. “He didn't make a scene, did he?”

“No, and if he had, you know I would've handled it,” his Mom chuckles. “No, don't worry about me, or us. He was pretty quiet at first, and then he started asking me questions. When I knew, when I suspected, if you told me.”

That has Dean perk up. “When did you suspect, then?”

And he can hear the smug smirk on her face when she says, “Oh, the moment you introduced us.”

Dean frowns. “Really.”

“Yes, really,” she grins. “Call it a Mom thing, you know when you're introduced to your children's significant others.”

“Um. Okay.”

“Obviously I found out pretty soon that it was more complicated than that.”

Dean waits, at a loss for words.

“Anyway, I talked to your Dad a lot. He needs to connect a few dots, but I think he's going to be okay.”

“I wish I could say what the big deal is about all this, but knowing him...” Dean trails off. Knowing John, and knowing what his upbringing had resulted in, regarding himself, Dean knows what the big deal is. And it has more to do with John than it concerns him, so it shouldn't bother him. It does and it doesn't, to a point.

Mary is serious and quiet when she states, “You know how I feel about Cas. He's one of my boys. Always has been. He's everything I ever wanted for you.”

_Angels are watching over you._

“I know,” Dean says, ogling Cas as he drops his frayed denim overshirt in the increasingly hot morning sun. He watches those shoulders roll back, shrug off that shirt, watches muscles work across a broad back and thinks, _I had my hands wrapped around those shoulders this morning when I came, being held in his arms._

There's a flip tugging at his stomach, the good kind, a zing of arousal down to his gut.

File that under: things he should not think about while talking to his Mom on the phone.

“Next time you come over, bring him. John will have to deal with it one way or another, sooner or later. And he knows it, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean swallows around the lump in his throat, the first waves of arousal effectively quelled. “Maybe we'll give him a couple days before that, though.”

“Sure. How about you come over for lunch again, sometime? Next Sunday sound good?”

“I'd like that.”

Dean doesn't tell her about Eileen or Sam, doesn't want to raise her hopes. They hang up after a few more meaningless lines of small talk.

As he watches Cas bend over to pick up a shovel, he has to smirk. Ah, that is oil to the fire that is his dirty mind. And he's a teenager, indeed.

After their talk, Cas has not changed or behaved any different than the days before.

So they're good, really.

Dean wonders if an orgasm in the morning mellows him out, but he is a lot more relaxed today.

Cas looks good, in that rugged old t-shirt of Dean's, with holes at the sides, and work pants that make his ass look like – to use Pam's words – 'you could bounce a nickel off that thing.' Dean can appreciate that.

For a moment, he dares to think about them, in bed, naked. Who'd be the one to top? They could always switch, of course, but Dean squirms where he sits on the porch swing, just thinking about it. He needs to talk to Cas about it, and it's going to be awkward, but so what. _Tough shit, Winchester._

Maybe he really shouldn't overthink it. It worked out fine, today, right? Just roll with the punches, go with the flow, and if you find yourself rubbing one out against your boyfriend's leg in the kitchen, there's that.

For real, though.

Only thinking about that orgasm makes Dean's insides tingle. It was _so_ good.

Which is stupid, in a way, because he never even had a hand around his cock, not even his own.

And when Cas gets up and declares that he's done for the day, Dean suggests trying the hot tub after all his hard work.

They sit on separate ends of the tub, play footsie in the middle, and talk about beekeeping all afternoon, until Dean heads out to the Roadhouse for his shift.

***  
  
Early on Sunday morning, Dean kisses Cas' temple when he leaves their bed and heads out to the lake, to go fishing and clear his head.

The Roadhouse was fun, filled to the brim, busy, but he couldn't hear himself think.

And Sam still hasn't shown.

At this point, Dean knows something is up.

So he sits down at the shore of the lake, puts up a chair, gets our a fishing rod and a lure, throws it out into the water, sits and waits and thinks.

It's maybe an hour after sunrise when a noise, a creak, makes him look sideways, only to find Jack sitting down on a folding chair next to him, fishing rod in hand as well. Dean doesn't even flinch, and he probably has Cas and years and years of him popping up two inches from his face to thank for that. At least Jack has a grasp of personal space.

“Hello, Dean,” Jack beams, waves at him. “I thought I'd join you, if you don't mind.”

“Nah,” Dean smiles. “It's good to see you. How are you, Jack?”

“Good, everything's working perfectly. I only needed a moment of serenity, as did you.”

“You want a beer?” Dean offers a bottle from the cooler.

As a testament to his non-human side, Jack wordlessly agrees. Anyone else would've dropped the 'it's happy hour somewhere' line on Dean.

They sit and drink in silence, and Dean realizes that he has the perfect opportunity, right here, right now. However, he doesn't know where to begin without sounding like a spoiled brat.

“I can sense that something is on your mind, Dean. Do you want to share?” Jack prompts him.

Dean huffs. _Of course._ “I'm wondering if Sam is not here, how is this my heaven? How is this 'the heaven I deserve'? Eileen is already here and he's clearly part of the heaven _she_ deserves, too.”

Jack's smile is unwavering. “The lord works--”

“\-- I told Cas once, if you say 'in mysterious ways', so help me I will kick your ass,” Dean jokes, but breaks into a laugh. 

“I was just poking fun,” Jack grins. “The truth behind it is very simple, and you'll see that. I promise.”

Dean looks out at the lake, warm golden sunlight spilling out over the slow ripples across the surface. “Then what is that truth?”

“Heaven doesn't only work the way you want it to. It also works the way you need it to.”

“How's that better than 'the lord works in mysterious ways'?” Dean throws back.

“There's no point in me spelling this out for you, Dean,” Jack declares. “What I can tell you, however, is that you don't need to worry about Eileen. Her days are short and her nights are restful. She does not suffer from Sam's absence. She knows he'll be here soon, and that gives her comfort and ease.”

“Then why do I--” Dean breaks off. Ok, maybe he has some shit to figure out, so what.

For a while, they don't talk. Both staring at the lake, at the unmoving lures in the water. They haven't caught a single fish yet. Jack drinks a sip of beer.

“It's true that you and Sam are connected, like soulmates,” Jack says, eventually, quiet. “And you will feel when Sam arrives in heaven. Like Cas felt it, when you arrived. When his time comes, you'll know.”

Dean smiles.

“But don't think that Sam is the Sam who buried you. It's been forty years, Dean. He had to learn to live without you.”

That, on the other hand, makes his throat close around a heavy lump. “I can only imagine how hard that was.”

Jack watches him carefully. “After years of the world's axis spinning around you, it was something that he needed to un-learn, to grow.”

“Yeah, I know we were co-dependent to borderline levels,” Dean admits. Is this where Jack is headed?

He looks at the kid, finds him looking back with an open, easy expression.

Sam became a husband, father, hunter on occasion, without him. But who is he without his brother?

“Thanks, Jack,” Dean says.

Enough food for thought.

They fish in silence for another two hours, interrupted only by Jack catching a huge zander. He gives it to Dean, and Dean takes it with him when he and Cas head over to Bobby's later.

Because apparently, getting roped into lunch visits is also part of working at the Roadhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, sometimes these characters do not what I intend them to do. (That sex scene was all Dean and his non-existent self control when it comes to these matters.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that chapter, and now we'll see what Dean makes with this tidbit of information. Thanks for following along to everyone! I love your comments and have yet to respond to a few, but bear with me please :-)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean and Cas get off in the kitchen together, Mary is an awesome mom, Jack and Dean go fishing. No sign of Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! So you're still not tired of these idiots and their elaborate dance of gay chicken? Well, me neither.

“Dean, Cas. C'mon in, boys,” Bobby greets them at the door, shoos them into the hallway.

“Hi, Bobby,” Dean gives him a one-armed hug, holding the tinfoil-wrapped fish with his spare hand. Bobby slaps his back with a hefty hand.

And Dean feels right at home, like he never left, like Bobby's house never burned down.

“Heya, boys!” Ellen shouts from the kitchen. “Get your ass in here, I need someone to cut some veggies for the salad.”

“Cas, you wanna?” Dean grins. “I'll _handle_ the _meat_.” And he tops the horrible pun with a cheeky wink.

Cas blinks, then pointedly ignores him. Dean cackles as Cas passes him by in the hallway, but he can also see the tiny smile tugging at his lips.

Bobby, on the other hand, rolls his eyes. “Classy, Dean,” he snorts. Then his eyes drop lower, to a spot somewhere around Dean's shoulder. Or neck? “But then again, who am I talking to. Next time, you might wanna cover that.”

“What do you mean?” Dean reaches up, runs his hand over the side of his neck, but can't feel a bump or anything.

With a nod towards the mirror on the wall, Bobby heads through the kitchen and out the door into the backyard.

And as Dean checks himself, he notices. There's a small, but very visible hickey on his neck, right above his collar bone, right beneath his field of view.

He feels heat flush up his cheeks.

And he knows exactly when that happened. He feels _that_ tingle down his spine as he thinks about yesterday, in the kitchen.

_Damnit, Cas._

Worst part of it all? When he worked at the Roadhouse the night before, that hickey was not hidden under a loose flannel collar. Because Dean only wore a t-shirt.

Staring into the mirror for a moment, Dean hesitates. If he wanted to, he could snap it away. But it's also... proof. Proof in the shape of Cas' mouth, right there, for everyone to see. It's not a secret or anything, they are not a secret, especially after last night, so he has nothing to hide. There's no need to pretend.

But it's also very blatant to rub it into everybody's face like this. Dean doesn't have an opinion on whether or not he's okay with that yet.

And a while ago, he might have been embarrassed at the idea that everybody knows. He had rolled his eyes one too many times at all the stupid shit that had been thrown their way.

He's had enough of it.

Dean tips his chin up. He can _own_ a damn hickey, so what.

In the kitchen, he hears Ellen and Cas argue half-heartedly over cutting vegetables versus just snapping the salad to existence.

“And what are you going to do for the next ten minutes, while talking to me, then?” Ellen counters. 

“I'm aware that humans like doing unnecessary things to keep up their routines,” Cas deadpans, and Dean can't help but laugh.

He meant to join Bobby in the garden, by the grill, but he has to drop in on that. “Yo, Cas,” he chuckles. “Don't be a grinch.”

“I'm just stating facts,” Cas shrugs, looking adorably put out as he frowns at the cutting board and knife.

“Don't worry, Dean, I can handle him,” Ellen frowns, then drops tomatoes, lettuce, some radishes and scallions in front of him. “Chop-chop.”

Dean slaps Cas' ass on his way out the back door. No one bats an eye.

But when Dean looks over his shoulder, seeing Cas stand right here, at the counter in Bobby's and Ellen's kitchen, something hits different. Which is Weird with a capital W. He can't put his finger on it, so he dismisses the thought.

Outside, Bobby is standing beside a huge barbecue, coals glimmering with fresh heat, the smoke curling in Dean's nose, earthy, tangy, wonderful.

“Caught some fish this morning,” he holds out the package to Bobby. “Well, technically, Jack caught it. Thought we could fit it on there.”

“You know how to prepare it?” Bobby asks. 

“Already did,” Dean smiles, but he'll keep that to himself until they get the tinfoil off later. The secret is lemon and cilantro and salt and nothing else, and so what, he learned a thing or two from Sam.

Bobby gestures to the grill, drawls, “Well then, what're ya waiting for?”

They slap a few pieces of steak and corn on the cob next to the fish and idly drink their beer. Dean just enjoys the smell, the mixture of roasting meat, smoking coal and the ever-present bitterness of motor oil residue in the back.

It smells like comfort and home and family, and Dean realizes how much he had missed this house. Plus, with Bobby, it's easy, just doing nothing, waiting for their food to be done.

Eventually, Bobby looks up at him. “So, what've you been up to, son? Enjoying heaven?”

“Yeah, you know, long drives into the sunset, hanging out and-slash-or working at the Roadhouse, movie night with Cas... it's been pretty busy so far. And I went to my parents' place.”

Bobby's eyes turn wary. “Your old man good?” 

Dean shrugs. “He goes hunting, which is his  _thing_ , Mom says. But I guess so, yeah.”

Bobby nods, slowly, then puts his beer on the table behind them and flips the steaks. “See, I meant with you and Cas.”

“No idea. He knows, I told him. Mom says he's processing. We'll see,” Dean frowns. Not the subject he wanted to talk about.

It's very obvious that Bobby knows that, too. “Told ya once, telling you again, you're a better man than your Daddy ever was, Dean. Don't let him drag you down.”

“I'm okay with it, Bobby, really,” Dean reassures him. “When I told him, I was-- relieved to get it out, and went home with my head held high. Realized I don't need his approval.”

Bobby claps his hand on his shoulder. “You really don't. S' not like you are head over heels for the guy because he's a guy, rather despite that.”

_Figures,_ Dean thinks, amused.

Figures Bobby Singer had him all figured out.

“It's Cas,” is all he says. And yes, he made his bed, now he has to lie in it, quite literally. Not noticing you're falling in love with your best friend is one thing, having to deal with the consequences the other.

“I get it,” Bobby hums, then quickly backpedals. “Not that I _get it,_ get it, but you two... Jack, meet Jill. Anyone who'd seen you back after the Leviathan thing would've told you as much.”

“You said I lost 'the best friend you've ever had,'” Dean shoots him a _look,_ eyebrow up.

He gets that same look right back. “Because you would've responded so well to me telling ya, 'You lost your boyfriend,' ya think? Like every other goddamn monster trying to get a rise outta you. 'course.”

Dean shrugs. But he gets it, and they both know it.

“Ye're a buncha idjits, is what you are.”

At that, Dean has to chuckle. “Bobby, you  _do_ know we're... a thing, right?”

“And thank fuck, took you long enough,” Bobby throws back. “Now go tell my wife and your husband the steaks are done, will ya.”

As Dean goes to do just that, he spots something from the corner of his eyes.

Because of course Bobby still runs the salvage yard. Of course it's still full of classic cars, Dean already saw a '68 Camaro on his way in and a '73 Corvette on the lift in the garage. This time, it's a banged up accident damaged car, the trunk basically missing, that catches his eye.

“Hey Bobby, is that a Chevy Caprice? 1966-ish?”

“Damn right it is. You need parts?”

“Could use a front axle shaft. Baby needs a new one. And maybe a few other things, the front suspension has been kind of wonky lately. Weird clonking to it when you're taking a turn.”

“Sounds like an axle shaft to me, but the dampers on that one should be good, too. Take what ya need.”

Dean huffs. “Thanks, Bobby. I know I could have any part with just a snap, but... doesn't feel right, I guess. That's what makes old cars so damn great.”

“Yeah, I get it. Throw whatever's left of that Caprice on the lift later and have at it. But now, if you don't want your steak well done, go get the others.”

Dean salutes, beer still in hand, and almost doesn't want to interrupt Ellen and Cas who are done with preparing the salad, some garlic bread and a fruit platter and laugh about god knows what.

Cas looks ethereal, eyes even bluer than usual in the direct sunlight, making his dark hair glitter, his grin bright and honest.

Dean's heart does a little hop, step and jump.

And at the back of his head, a possessive thought manifests: _all mine._

***  
  
The fish turns out excellent, and of course Dean eats a bit of the salad, just because Cas made it. Or so he tells himself.

He spends the afternoon getting the Caprice on a forklift and into Bobby's garage, hauling wheels and dislodging the front axle to get at the suspension. The radio is blaring in the background, AC/DC and Metallica and Dean hums along, turning wrenches and unbolting and hammering away at the rust that keeps this car together.

They leave him to it.

At the end of the day, he even tracked down a Bel Air that Bobby had sitting around for what looked like decades. The hood was already missing and a decently sized bush with a decently sized mouse nest had taken residence where the motor once was, but Dean only needed a few screws and a surprisingly mint exhaust tip off it.

The radiator hose he knows he needs every couple of years will be a new one, anyway. Rubber used in 50 year old cars is not that durable.

He's takes stock of himself, sitting on the creeper, old jeans full of grease stains, his gray shirt soaked with sweat and garage dust. There's oil stains on his face, probably, from where he hit the oil pan of the Caprice at the wrong angle – and he hadn't seen the crack in it that gave way to the crowbar – and his hair... he has no idea, except that he knows he needs a shower. Like, yesterday.

“Dean?” Cas' voice, and Dean whips his head around trying to find him. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, all done,” Dean says, groaning as he gets to his feet. At least his knees don't hurt as much as they used to, after bad hunts.

Cas is standing in the door connecting Bobby's house to the garage.

Dean gestures to the array of parts he salvaged, grinning proudly. “Can't wait to give Baby an update.”

“You look happy,” Cas states, smiling as he walks over to Dean.

“Yeah, well, I am. Or, will be, after a shower,” Dean huffs out a laugh, rubs his itching nose against his shoulder, because he doesn't want to touch it with his dirty hands. His shirt still ends up with another grease stain. Plus, “I reek. I can smell _myself,_ and that's never a good sign.”

Tentatively, Cas reaches for him, places his hand on Dean's hip. His eyes travel from Dean's knees, from worn and torn jeans, up his body, over the frayed shirt hanging loosely around his collarbone and to his oil-streaked face. Dean feels gross, but the way Cas looks at him--

_Cas, not for nothing, but last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid._

Okay, so Cas looks at him like _that._ Dean bites his tongue. He doesn't want to tease, hitting the truth might make Cas think he's making fun of him.

And Cas' hand squeezes his hip, blue eyes going wide.

“What?” Dean asks, amused.

“Wondering if there's any spot on you that's not dirty, so I can--” Cas mumbles, eyes roaming, almost hungry. Lips slack, open, and Dean wants to suck that full bottom lip between his. “You look, um.”

“Like I've spent the afternoon under several cars? Yeah,” Dean grins, ducks his head. “Don't tell me you're into that?”

“I... appreciate the whole aesthetic you're epitomizing, right now, though I have no idea why it's as appealing as it is.”

Now that's truly an interesting fact to know. “Well, better get used to it, I got some work to do on the Impala, so.” He looks at Cas, squinting.

Cas breathes. Deep breath in, a sigh out. Gaze not wavering once from Dean's chest.

Dean pulls off his working gloves, his hands underneath sweaty but otherwise clean. He reaches around Cas, doesn't pull him into his body, but puts his hand into Cas' neck and leans in to whisper into his ear – he may be able to deal with that hickey on his neck, but Bobby or Ellen or anyone else does not need to hear this - “Don't tell me that me looking like a grease monkey gets you all hot and bothered, Cas.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Cas swallow, his Adam's apple bopping.  _Bingo._

“What is it exactly?” he continues, feels Cas squirm under his fingertips. “The manly handyman thing? The aspect of getting down and dirty? Or you wanna get me naked and into the shower, that it?”

“Dean,” Cas growls. “I--”

Dean interrupts him, letting go and stepping back as he winks, “Let's go home. I'll just get these into the trunk real quick.” And with a grin, he turns around, wiggles his ass in that ratty old pair of jeans.

Cas sighs, probably regretting all of his life choices including following that order to save him from hell.

Throwing his head back with a cackling laugh, Dean collects screws and axle shafts and control arms and leaves the garage to head for the Impala.

Okay, so maybe Cas hates him a little bit right now, but it's not like he didn't know what he was in for.

***  
  
Dean showers as soon as they get home.

Of course he'd teased Cas to come shower with him, but Cas was not to be persuaded.

Which is unfortunate.

Mostly because he feels like he hasn't seen Cas all day – fishing with Jack, grilling with Bobby, tinkering around the salvage yard all afternoon – but he also feels gross and so he hadn't tried all that much. It felt better to get it done and over with.

When Dean joins Cas in the kitchen, towel still on his head and dressed in pajamas already, he finds him leaning against the counter, munching on pickles.

“Dude, pickles?” Dean chuckles, bumps his hip into Cas as he slides up next to him and fishes a pickle out of the jar for himself.

“I had a craving,” Cas shrugs.

Dean is suspicious. “You. Had a craving? Last time that happened you turned human.”

Cas tilts his head, nods. “No, I think this time it's simply the constant presence of food. I'm getting used to this ritual of eating at certain times.”

“Don't they taste like molecules?” Dean chuckles as he gets himself another pickle.

“Yes, of course. But if you're allowing yourself to see, or, in this case, taste the bigger picture, it's really a wonderful symbiosis of sweet and sour, juicy and crunchy. Engaging all of the very limited human taste buds.”

Dean snorts with amusement. Of course he would fall in love with a guy who could wax poetic about  _pickles._

Looking at Cas, he finds his stomach fluttering. Of course he would fall in love with a dork like that. Of course he would also fall in love with someone who was able to enter a room, smite everyone, be in total control, powers blazing. He's really got the best of both worlds.

“What's so funny?” Cas asks.

Dean has it, right there, on the tip of his tongue. It feels weird, just blurting it out. He's not the type to do that. He swore to himself he wouldn't become a sap like that. But the longer he holds Cas' gaze, the weaker he gets. Cas blinks at him, and picks up another pickle, closes his eyes when he bites into it, the crunch audible.

“Nothing,” Dean says. “You're a dork and I love you, is all.”

Slowly, a smile spreads on Cas' lips and stays there. There's a whole new level of flutter in Dean's stomach.

Cas has always been... well, Cas. And Dean has known Cas, inside and out, even before they got to heaven. Sure, they had their fights and their misunderstandings, but a few things were always a given.

However, there's all the things he learned about Cas in the meantime. That he gets flustered when Dean puts him with his back against a wall. The has a soft spot for pickles, that he sleeps on his side, that given the chance he will curl into Dean in his sleep, that his bedhead in the mornings is glorious, that he will drink coffee because he likes it but will eat eggs only to humor Dean. That he gets turned on seeing Dean with motor oil all over his face, wearing old work clothes.

That Dean can get him off with some basic frottage. What shape his mouth turns into when he comes.

And right then, in their kitchen, as Dean thinks about the day before and what they did right here, he realizes. What it was that irked him about Bobby's kitchen.

It was the fact that their kitchen looked basically the same, since it was modeled after Bobby's, from Cas' memory. And all he saw in Bobby's house was him and Cas, against the counter, doing. Well. Fun stuff.

“Cas, seriously, we need to re-do the kitchen,” Dean chuckles, embarrassed.

The reply is honestly confused. “Why?”

“I can't think about having sex with you every time we're at Bobby's. I can't, okay. And it's all I could see today.”

Cas' expression softens, becomes smug, but he nods. “Do you have something in mind?”

Dean turns, looks at the living room situation. “How about we change the rooms, make this the living room? We could use that wall for a bigger TV, instead of the small one in the corner there. And instead, have the kitchen there.”

“Show me,” Cas nods, and Dean wills their surroundings to shift. With his eyes closed, he re-organizes the house, the rooms, how the kitchen should look.

And when he opens his eyes again, the kitchen became quite more modern and a little less worn, with a new stove and a freestanding fridge with magnets of all sizes on its front, waiting for pictures to be pinned to it.

He likes the living room, though it takes some convincing to get Cas to accept the red sofa instead of the brown one they had before.

The kitchen, he has his issues with. “It's kind of empty, here,” Dean notices, standing in the middle of the room, spinning on his heel.

He looks at the light marble counter tops, at the stove, the ceramic sink under the window. The dinner table fits easily within the open span of the room, towards the living room. It's nice, it fits, it's cozy, yet open enough to not feel cramped.

Something is missing. Something like... a kitchen island.

Dean claps his hands, and the kitchen island including a breakfast counter appears. “Now that's what I'm talking about,” Dean mumbles, looks at Cas, and finds him rounding the island with his fingertips following the lines of the smooth marble. He stops right in front of Dean, and considering the space on the counter top if he ever wanted to-- yeah, that needs to be bigger.

He squints at Cas' height, adds a few inches to accommodate his own size, and the kitchen island becomes a tad longer.

Cas sends a questioning look his way.

“You know, the day will dawn when we'll fuck in this kitchen, because we _absolutely_ will, and no matter--” he breaks off - that one's touchy subject, still. Dean clears his throat. He tries to go for easy, joking, like usual. “-- ah, no matter who bends who over the counter, this way we have enough space for that.”

“Good thinking,” Cas just says, and it's so flat and monotone that Dean can't help but laugh. “Though your mind is very much on the sexual topics today.”

“I can't help it if you're the one who objectifies me when I play a mechanic on Sundays,” Dean replies, and stalks towards Cas, pins him with both hands against the counter of the kitchen island.

Cas narrows his eyes. “I can't help it that seeing you getting your hands dirty is... Well. I assume, it's the aspect of having to do manual labor, working hard. Humans can be driven, not shying away from those tasks if they have a goal in mind. It's part of the perfect imperfections that are defining humanity. I guess you reminded me of that.”

Dean blinks. “That's your take-away?”

“And obviously, not even motor oil can hide the fact that you're beautiful.” A small, lopsided grin.

Dean ducks his head, the sentence hitting him at full force. “Uh. Cas, you don't just say that to a guy.”

“What, 'beautiful'? But you are. If you don't like beautiful, I could maybe use 'pretty'?”

Shaking his head, helpless, Dean pulls Cas against his body with both arms around his hips, curls his hands upwards, grabs Cas' shoulders. Cas' arms wrap around his neck in reflex. “Not better,” Dean rasps, his voice rough and shot too hell.

Why is this what gets him emotional? _Beautiful._

Cas thinks he's beautiful.

Dean sighs. There's been this thought, that popped up randomly into his head, when he was elbow-deep in the Caprice. “Cas, I'd like to try something, if you don't mind.”

“I don't.” Not even knowing what he's in for.

Dean grabs his hand, entwines their fingers, and pulls Cas towards their bedroom. They stop in front of the bed, and Cas looks at Dean for an explanation.

“You know, what we did, yesterday,” he begins as his fingers start their journey at Cas' collar and down to the first buttons of his shirt, undoing them from top to bottom, “I realized that it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter what's in your pants, it's not what made me--” Dean trails off at the last button, slips his hands under the shirt, right above Cas' pecs, shoves it over his shoulders and down his arms. Next, the t-shirt has to go, and Dean unceremoniously grabs the hem and pulls it up. “Lift your arms,” he says, and it's over Cas' head in no time.

Cas waits, head tilted to the side. With a smirk, Dean leans down, places a kiss onto his shoulder.

It takes another deep breath for him to say, “I fell in love with you because _you're you._ That's the whole reason why I would even consider this,” he points back and forth between them, “with a guy at all.”

His hands trail down the center of Cas' chest, eyes following their track down to his jeans, where Dean hesitates for a moment. Then he looks into Cas' baby blues to admit, “At first, I didn't think I could even sleep with you, but it's like, something I can't compartmentalize. I can do sex without loving someone. But it doesn't work, for me, the other way around.”

Opening the button of Cas' jeans, Dean dips his fingers under the waistband and caresses the soft skin there with his fingertips. He's nervous. His hands are shaking. “And it scares the shit outta me,” his voice is too deep, too rough. “And you know that.”

Cas smiles, then reaches up to grab Dean's shoulders with both hands. “And you know there's no need, and no rush to do anything.”

Dean nods. “I think,” he starts anew, pulling down the zipper of Cas' jeans, “all I need is some practice.”

With a wary frown, Cas shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

And Dean feels like it's his first time all over again. “Humor me,” he says, smiles at Cas as he pulls down his pants.

“Fine,” Cas steps out of them, reaches for his underwear, but Dean doesn't let him. Grinning, Dean grasps Cas' hands and pulls his boxers down.

Yes, he's seen Cas naked. Most recently, in the shower, yesterday. He's seen him shirtless, a couple times. But he never allowed himself to look.

He allows himself to do just that, right now.

Dean takes a step back but Cas fidgets, stepping from one foot to the other. Making him uncomfortable is not the point of this, though, so Dean steps back in, wraps his arms around Cas' middle.

“Relax, I don't plan anything. I just want to get you naked and into bed,” Dean smirks. “Not trying to seduce you. Yet.”

“What about you?” Cas asks, tugs at Dean's flannel PJs.

“Oh, of course I'll get undressed too. You wanna do the honors?”

Cas blinks at him, clearly having no idea what Dean is on about. Then he reaches for Dean's shirt, fumbles with the buttons, tugs at the sleeves, then at the shoulders to get it off.

It's not sexy, and Dean chuckles, because it's not the point to be sexy. It's just practice. Cas gets his shirt off and his moves are quick and perfunctory. No teasing touches in-between and oh, they have so much to learn, both of them. Dean loses his pants, Cas shoves them down with his underwear in one go.

Dean laughs, then pulls Cas into his arms again. “I'm sorry, I swear I'm not making fun of you.”

Cas harrumphs into his neck and it is kind of cute.

“Come to bed with me,” Dean mumbles into his ear, softly.

Together, they slip under the covers of their bed, and the last residual awkwardness fades as Dean wraps himself around Cas, doesn't care about where they're touching or not – no, not even if their dicks are touching, which they very much do – he just wants to be here, feel Cas in his arms, against his body, touching as much of him as he can.

Cas meets him halfway, hides his face in Dean's shoulder.

Naked skin on skin is something else.

Dean lies there, in this cocoon of warmth and comfort and the smell of Cas, in their sheets, in their bed.

He feels his heartbeat... slowing. The touch is calming, grounding him. His hand flutters over Cas' rib cage, down towards his abdomen, to his hip.

“Isn't this what humans do in puberty?”

“You mean thinking way too much about getting other people naked? Yes, absolutely. For a while, it's all about getting to first base, second base, whatever. I mean, I was no saint. Sometimes, hooking up with a girl was the highlight of my week, or a whole month even. Between arguing with Dad and keeping Sammy in check and almost getting killed by a monster or three.”

Cas hums, low in his throat, strokes his fingers through the hair at the back of Dean's head. “Do you enjoy this?”

“M-hmm,” Dean sighs, closes his eyes, lets himself feel, and only feel. Their feet tangle under the covers, Cas' big toe rubbing against his shin. Their crotches are flush together, but it's okay, no awkward boners or anything. “Sorry, I hope this somehow is worth your while. If now, I promise to make it up to you.”

“No, don't think about it,” Cas mutters, and there's a smile on his lips that Dean hears clear as day. “I think I get it now. Why you wanted to do this.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

Cas places a chaste kiss to his forehead. “This is as much about trust and getting to know each other's bodies as it is about non-sexual intimacy.”

“Maybe, but I'm no shrink,” Dean shrugs, smiling lazily against Cas' neck. “I just thought about cuddling naked in bed with you and thought, that'd be awesome. And it is.” He accentuates that last statement with a fist pump.

Shifting a bit in Dean's arms, Cas leans back to look him in the eye, their faces next to each other's on the pillow. “Certainly a good idea, and no need to make it up to me.” There's a hand, on his neck, traveling down his spine, fingertips teasing, light as a feather, until they stop at the curve of his ass. Cas' hand flattens there, his pinkie on Dean's ass cheek. Then he starts to rub circles along Dean's spine with his flat hand, up to his shoulder blades, into the knotted muscles, and Dean  _melts_ into Cas' chest.

He closes his eyes and lets the touch wash over him. There's nothing sexual about it, it's just comfort, as easy as breathing. After what seems like a blissful eternity, Cas rests his hand at Dean's waist and kisses the top of his head.

Dean wordlessly kisses his chest in thanks.

They stay like that forever, hands roaming over bodies when they feel like it, and Dean learns that Cas' nipples aren't overly sensitive, but his soft spot is his collarbone, definitely. In-between stroking his hand down to the small of Cas' back, Dean places tender kisses there, enjoys the little shudders and goosebumps he can get out of Cas for that.

Eventually, Dean nudges Cas' shoulder. “Hey, could you turn over onto your belly?”

Cas does, without questions.

Dean wordlessly straddles his hips, sits down right on his ass. Cas has his arms up, his head resting on his hands, muscles bulging on his arms.

Dean whistles, impressed. And finally allows himself to touch. Runs his hands all the way from the dimples above Cas' buttocks upwards, along his spine, to his shoulders. So far, same difference in comparison to a girl, but those shoulders - there's no softness. Dean traces Cas' bicep, triceps, up to his elbow and back, over broad, broad shoulders, back to his neck.

Leans down, places a kiss right there, between his shoulder blades. Asks the one thing that he wanted to ask for years. “Is this where your wings are?”

Cas shakes his head, his eyes closed. “You would only be able to see my wings in my true form, which I would advise against, and my true form does not match this vessel.”

“Are they any different since Jack...” Dean trails off, rubs his hands over Cas' shoulder blades, kneads into his tense muscles.

“Not really, no,” he shakes his head again, sags under Dean's touch. “They became a bit more translucent, though. They shimmer in all colors of the rainbow.”

“Wow,” Dean chuckles. “Talk about wearing your pride for everyone to see.”

“Because it resembles the rainbow flag?” Cas asks, almost slurring his words. “I never asked Jack if that was his intention. Other angel's wings have colors now, too. Anael's are an iridescent blue.”

Dean doesn't want to talk about other angels, so he rubs his hands down Cas' sides, to the small of his back again, traces circles into the vertebrae of his spine and presses his thumbs into the knots. And he sees it now, how people can be attracted to the aesthetic of muscular shoulders, a slim waist and a perky ass. He allows himself to see it. Hell, his cock seems to realize it right then, too.

As a form of damage control, Dean rolls off of Cas, one arm still slung around him.

Cas' eyes are closed, and he's already half asleep.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, one eye opening just enough to let the affection shine through. “I love you, too, by the way.”

“I know,” Dean grins, kisses his shoulder.

“Sleep?” Cas asks, and yes, that's not a question at this point.

Dean chuckles, gathers him in his arms, and they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has diabetes here, better go get your insulin. 
> 
> And with as much of a non-spoiler that I can give you: don't worry about Sam.
> 
> Again, I'm a bit behind on answering to your comments, but I love every single one of them, and I will get to it - promise! - and thank you so, so much for reading this and joining Dean on this journey of discovering his sexuality.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Bobby gives the fatherly acceptance-talk that Dean needed to hear, Dean gets some parts for the Impala, Cas is very much into a greasy Dean. Also, naked cuddling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Everybody put your seatbelts on (especially you, Dean), let's go. Enjoy!

“Cas?“ Dean asks, his head in the fridge, scanning its contents. “Tell me, what do you _really_ like for breakfast? Because I know you barely tolerate the eggs.”

A shiver runs down his body, even though he put on some underwear after a very cozy night of sleeping naked in bed with Cas – and he made Cas put on his boxers, too, to “stop distracting me!” - which he's regretting now, but still. The boxers are way too wide and hide all of Cas' beautiful butt. Maybe he can get him to wear boxer briefs or something.

Though that might be a distraction, too. He does an 'eh'-head tilt at himself.

The fridge is cold.

“Or is it how I do them? Would you rather have them sunny side up?” Dean questions, now that he's thinking about it.

“No, it's not a matter of preparation,” Cas shakes his head from where he's sitting at the breakfast bar. “It's just that eggs always symbolize fertility and new life and to take them from the hens and eat them, it always seemed like blasphemy to me.”

Dean straightens his back, looks up at him over his shoulder, notices the surreptitious upwards shift of his eyes, but doesn't comment on it. “Okay. Doesn't answer my question what you want for breakfast, though.”

“Oatmeal?”

Dean shrugs, nods and gets the milk. “And how is this--” he shakes the milk carton, “any different than the eggs?”

“I'd prefer soy.”

“I don't think we have-”

“We do now.”

Dean stares at the inside of the door and lo and behold, there's the soy milk. “Does that stuff even taste good?”

“Try it,” Cas smiles. “Also, it's not that I don't like a greasy breakfast every once in a while. But seeing as I don't need to eat for sustenance, I prefer a bit more variety.”

“Isn't it part of the perks of being in heaven that you get to eat a greasy breakfast every morning without getting a coronary?” Dean throws back.

“Of course that's the case, but how about we try different breakfasts, from all over the world, for a while?”

Dean frowns, ponders. “If you want to.”

“You won't regret it.” A tiny smile. _Cute._

The breakfast bar turns out to be a flop, though, because sitting on bar stools, facing in the same direction, makes playing footsie under the table kind of impossible. So without any explanation, Dean replaces it with a tiny table at the front end of the kitchen island and hooks his foot into Cas'.

“Better,” he states, and it comes out gruffer than he intended.

Cas hums, grins into his oatmeal with fresh mango and walnuts and cocoa flakes on top. Under the table, his toes tap Dean's.

Dean makes a mental note about having Eileen explain to him how to do scrambled tofu.

***  
  
Later that morning, Dean sticks his head through the back door towards where Cas is working on the beehive in their garden. “Cas? I'm going for a drive!” he hollers.

“Just a moment,” Cas replies, then finishes by closing the hive and walking towards him, shrugging off his gear on the way. “Where are you going?”

Dean dangles the car keys on his index finger, at eye level. “Nowhere, just a test drive. See if I missed anything besides the front suspension.”

And maybe a bit of a joy ride.

“Would you mind if I came along?” Cas asks, carefully. Giving him space if he wants to do this alone.

Dean doesn't need to think that through. “'course not. You wanna?”

Cas nods.

And so, Dean slips the mixtape he made for Cas into the cassette deck and floors the gas pedal on their way out the driveway. The Impala's rear dances, and Dean whistles impressed when he balances her out.

Dean takes note of every clattering in the suspension, every wobble in the steering wheel as he drives. Cas lets him, smiles when 'Ramble On' comes blaring through the speakers and Dean sings along, knowing every word of it.

They drive without a goal in mind, maybe for minutes, probably for hours, without hurry. When trees open up to a hillside high up over a lake, Cas nods towards an overlook. “Dean, would you pull over, please?”

Dean doesn't react, he just slows down and rolls into the empty parking lot. There's a lone bench beside a cedar tree, and the view is beautiful.

“Are you hungry?” Cas asks. “It's almost lunchtime.”

“Yeah, why not,” Dean stretches his limbs, pops his shoulders and neck. He's been stiffer than he thought. “Didn't bring anything, though.”

“I got it,” Cas winks, actually _winks,_ and pulls out a picnic basket from the trunk.

“Huh,” Dean smirks, feels warmth pool in his stomach. 

It takes him a moment to process as they unpack the contents onto the table. It's not just any generic picnic basket, no, it has all of Dean's favorite snacks, tiny burgers, some sandwiches and fruit. Cas packed this with intent, and acknowledging this makes Dean pretty happy.

The warmth is still curling in his insides, bubbling just under the surface.

As they dig in, Dean looks over the lake, into the tree top above them, then to the eyes like the skies, just as blue, across the table from him.

“Cas, is this a date?” Dean can't help but grin.

Cas looks down at his plate and, like Dean did at breakfast, hooks his ankle around Dean's under the table.

That's answer enough and Dean laughs with his mouth full. “Okay,” he says, swallowing the delicious piece of mini-cheeseburger.

So, a date.

He can do a date with Cas.

His heart isn't in on the plan yet, and is beating too hard, too loud. Dean feels drawn too tight. How will this day end, with them kissing? He's nervous. Looking at Cas' lips, closing around a piece of banana in a completely un-sexy way, he sighs under his breath. Maybe they'll finally get there. He feels somewhat ready. Maybe if the situation presents itself. Maybe some internal prep-talk will help, but overall, he feels like he could do it.

Cas catches him looking and blinks once, before his lips quirk upwards.

Such a nice set of lips.

Dean wants to kiss Cas, right here, but they're in the middle of their meal and it's not the time or the place.

Plus, does Cas even feel ready?

And at that thought, Dean's house of cards comes crashing down. Cas has been so patient, going along with Dean's actions, playing along to everything. Dean hasn't stopped once to consider his feelings, beside that one time Cas blew up in his face.

Well. He did say then that he wanted to kiss Dean.

And that Dean wouldn't let him because he's not ready and that he understood.

Dean knows Cas has his insecurities about the whole thing, too. Knowing technicalities doesn't mean knowing how to act on feelings.

Cas is as in over his head as Dean is.

“So, what's the plan, then,” Dean asks to get his mind off of that thought process. “Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise, of course,” Cas returns, “But you'll like it.”

Figures.

Dean hums, gets another piece of cheese and grape on a toothpick.

Maybe  _he_ should be patient, for once.

When Cas unpacks a whole entire cherry pie, Dean is just about ready to propose to him, but laughs it off. “I know why you... you're--” he stutters to a halt. Maybe he should finally ask the million-dollar question. “What are we, Cas? Boyfriends sounds way too childish.”

“Partners?” Cas offers, his loaded fork half-way on his way to his mouth. “Lovers?”

There's a blush on Dean's cheeks, he can feel it, and he can feel the tips of his ears burn. “I like that.”

“Which one?”

“Both, both is good.” He can't bring himself to say it, but fuck, he's happy. In fact, he's so full of nervous energy and affection that he can barely muster the appetite to eat his pie.

And that's saying something.

He stuffs his face with pie anyway.

When they're done eating and packing up their food, Cas puts the basket back into the trunk, and Dean slams it shut.

Then he reaches into his pocket, grabs the car keys, and with a quick, “Hey, heads up,” throws them in a high bow over to Cas, who fishes them out of the air.

His face spells out pure confusion as Dean walks past him, one hand squeezing his waist as he does, and heads for the passenger side door.

“You want me to--” Cas stammers, taken completely off guard.

“You know where we're going, I don't,” Dean grins, then folds himself into the car.

Still sounding insecure, Cas opens the driver's side. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“About me driving your car,” Cas clarifies as he sits down.

It's unfamiliar to see him like this. But it fits, in Dean's mind. His car, his baby, and the man he loves. “Absolutely.”

Cas puts the keys into the ignition, and the motor roars to life. He puts her into drive with a pleased smile and they head out onto the open road.

Dean fiddles with the cassette deck, and it's not Zeppelin any more, but a mix tape of Boston, Motörhead, Foreigner and The Scorpions.

For once, Dean has time to look. Time to enjoy the road, enjoy the scenery, flat plains and the mountains rising in the distance, beautiful. He taps his fingers against the interior, elbow hanging out the open window. He enjoys watching Cas, driving, no hesitation as he taps the breaks, the wheel gliding along his deft fingers. His eyes are drawn tight with focus, a hint of a frown between them, lips closed but oh so tempting.

Dean wants to kiss him for handling his baby the way he does. Confident, careful, sexy.

He rubs his hand over his mouth. He's screwed, isn't he.

After a while, the scenery changes again, and the Impala roars up a slope to get on some kind of two-lane highway that seems unfamiliar. It's the roadworks, the guard rails, it's all a bit weird. Cas really pushes the gas.

It's a perk that they're in heaven and speed limits aren't a thing.

When Cas slows down after half an hour of cruising, and they take the next exit, Dean knows they're not in the United States any more. Cas must've zapped them some place or heaven did its thing where it got you to where you wanted.

“Where are we?” Dean asks.

“Near Passau, Lower Bavaria, Germany.”

“And. What are we doing here?” Dean stares ahead, confused.

“Going on a date,” Cas smiles at him and after a few minutes along some back roads, parks the car in a parking lot. 

It's a theme park, but a glorious one. The sign above the entryway reads 'Pullman City'.

Dean is immediately charmed by the Wild West vibe of the park, there's a main street with shops and horses everywhere. He knows he becomes starry eyed despite the corny get-up of most of the artists. Of course he gets himself a corny get-up, too, he has to. Of course it's not accurate, but none of these people have ever been to the Wild West, like Dean has. He likes this glorified, Germanized version of it, though.

It's probably like any German stepping onto an American Oktoberfest, it's the same kind of weird.

Cas smiles all the way through the afternoon. They get snacks and beer – _German_ beer, so Dean is over the moon – watch the parade, get souvenirs. Dean picks a cowboy hat for Cas and one for himself and while Cas heads to the register for that, he finds himself in front of a ring display.

Maybe it is presumptuous and too early and too much, but when Cas is not looking, he gets two plain silver rings with white inlays, plain and beautiful and a red bandana to justify the fact that he goes to pay for something after Cas has already bought something.

The rings burn a hole into the pocket of his jeans, and his heart is beating too fast, too loud, again.

They spend all afternoon exploring the park and when the sun sets, there's a little line dance show. Without really talking about it, they head towards the parking lot afterwards.

Dean is grinning. Has been all afternoon. “Thanks, Cas,” he says, quietly.

Dean doesn't know where to begin. They've been different today. Date or not, there has neither been hand-holding nor any particular romantic stuff. And only now does Dean realize how touchy they have become at home. A hand at his waist, trailing up his spine, to his neck. A kiss to the temple, to the neck, to the shoulder. A hug shared in the kitchen, a foot around his under the table.

They had none of all this today, not since the picnic at the overlook, and Dean's fingertips are itching.

To make a point, Dean throws his arm across Cas' shoulders, pulls him close.

Cas wraps his arm around Dean's waist in return. “You're welcome.”

Dean drives, lets Baby rip across the German Autobahn and enjoys the fact that there truly is no speed limit.

But something is off, something bothers him, still.

Yes, this trip was a date and he enjoyed it.

But.

Dean shakes his head. It's on the tip of his tongue, a sour aftertaste, something that doesn't fit, doesn't sit right with him.

He takes the next exit, drives up some hill in the darkness, and parks the Impala in the middle of nowhere, in an open spot, no trees around them blocking their view.

“Dean? Everything alright?” Cas asks.

Dean says nothing. He doesn't want to worry Cas. So he gets out, motions Cas to follow him.

They sit down on the still-warm hood, knees touching, and Dean leans back against the windshield. It's glass and it's hard and uncomfortable, and the windshield wiper digs into his ass, but he doesn't mind. Not when Cas is lying beside him, staring up at the stars with him.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean starts. He knows he needs to say it. C _ommunication is the key for a functioning relationship._

Cas turns his head towards him, blue eyes seeming almost black in the dim light of the moon.

Dean clears his throat, doesn't know where to begin. He should've thought this through beforehand.

Instead of launching into a mess of a speech, he grabs Cas' hand between them and squeezes it. Cas smiles, and Dean wants to kiss him. Again. Thinks, _maybe, this time, it's the right situation._

No, but, he can _not_ leave this unsaid.

Cas is close, their foreheads are touching, and right here, under the clear night sky full of twinkling stars, on the hood of the Impala, after a date, wouldn't it be perfect?

Dean rubs his nose against Cas'. This has to do.

Cas grins, surprised, and they both chuckle.

“So, um, Cas,” Dean starts, again, and this time, he powers through. “Not that I don't appreciate it, but. This trip, I loved it, thanks for doing this for me. And I appreciate your patience and that you're waiting for me and all, but I don't want this _all_ to be about _me._ That's not the point. What about _you?”_

“I like to see you happy.” Cas answers, shrugging. “So today was something for me, too.”

“No, that's not what I mean,” Dean tries to say. Words fail him, English fails him. “I mean, it is about you being happy. But you've been going along with everything I did, everything I asked of you. Where are you in all this? Is this alright? Where are your boundaries?”

Cas bumps his nose against Dean's. “You don't need to worry about me.”

“But I do. Talk to me, man,” Dean pleads.

“I--” Cas turns his head, talks up towards the sky. “Being patient is easy for me. As with every feeling that took root the longer I've been on earth, it's confusing at first and I need to sort through it. I've had my experiences, dealing with desire and longing. They're amplified, because it's you, but they're still – detached, in a way. You know, I have these feelings, but I don't know how to express them. I know how sex between two males works, but I can't see how that translates to you and me. It's abstract, like the theory of relativity.”

“Thank you,” Dean sighs, inhales, all at once feeling better, because he knows what's happening in Cas' head and he gets it, but he's maybe also a bit disappointed. “That's what I wanted to know.”

“And now?”

“Now what?”

Cas looks puzzled, adorably so. “That's what I wanted to ask.”

“We figure it out,” Dean smiles. “Like we always do.”

Cas sighs, and Dean feels it now, hears the gears turning in his mind.

He pauses, waits for Cas to speak.

When he does, his voice is rough, cracking at the edges, concerned.

“How do we figure this out, Dean? I want this to work, and when we get to those next steps, I want to be there with you. I want to know what I'm doing. I want to be ready, yet I can promise nothing of all of this.”

Ah, that's right.  _Expectations._

Dean chuckles, nods, rolls onto his side, ignores the metal joint of the wipers digging into his hip bone and hugs Cas, the best he can.

“Don't, Cas. First off, you get to tell me to stop, anytime. This is not about me, it's about us. If you're not there yet, I won't go there. Simple as that. You've got your construction sites, I've got mine. But let's make sure we're working on the same one. Together.”

And that is exactly why they needed to have this talk.

Cas releases a deep breath. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Don't put that much pressure on yourself. That's the other thing, it won't be perfect, it never is. You wanna know how my first time with a girl went?”

“I'm not sure I want to know,” Cas says, but Dean doesn't miss his amused tone.

“Well, I'm telling you anyway,” Dean laughs. “See, she was beautiful, and funny, and this wasn't a one night stand or anything, we've seen each other a couple of times, I was eighteen and a virgin, and one time after a couple dates and some groping, she put a condom on my chest and grinned. I was so nervous, I wanted to be perfect, I wanted to do all these things I've heard of, wanted to make her come before me, because that's what a considerate lover does, right. You know what happened? We both struggled to get the condom on and when I... when I entered her, I came literally a second later.”

He's less embarrassed to talk about this now than he thought he would be.

Cas' lips twitch. “And then?”

“We burst out laughing immediately. We tried again a few hours later, that went better,” Dean smiles at the memory.

For a few silent moments, they just smile at each other.

“So please do me a favor or three,” Dean asks, leaning down. “Don't let me get too far into my head. I want to think of you, too. I want this to be good for you, too. Sometimes I think we've been building up to this for so long, it's kind of hard to do it justice.”

Cas hums, tilts his head in agreement, eyes locking with Dean's. “There's certainly truth in that.”

Dean leans down, places a kiss on Cas' temple, rests his forehead against it.

“What's a perfect kiss for you, Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean blinks. “What d'you mean?”

“What do you like about kissing? What are common mistakes?”

Dean frowns. “Didn't I just tell you to stop trying to be perfect?”

“Yes, but I want to know this, as part of getting to know you.”

Closing his eyes, Dean imagines it. Thinks about those particularly toe-curling kisses he's had. Thinks about what he likes, because he wasn't choosy about this, ever.

But he also knows how bad kissing can kill any bedroom action.

“You know how most movies or porn or whatever, always put extra emphasis on the tongue? Like, I know it's called tonsils tennis but that's not actually a good thing,” Dean laughs, low in his throat. It feels awkward talking about this. It's so much easier to explain by doing it. “Not for me, at least.”

God, Dean wants to kiss Cas.

He keeps his eyes shut or he will.

If Cas wanted to kiss him, he could always turn his head and do it. And all of today and yesterday has been about Dean, it's about time that he lets Cas have some control. But, if Cas wants to talk about kissing, Dean can do that.

“I like those slow, soft kisses. It's so much better without pressure, without tongue at first. There's so many things you can do with your lips, not only nipping and teasing, first the upper lip, then the bottom one, the corners, tugging and sucking and everything in-between. I love it when those innocent, sweet kisses turn to more, when you feel it low in your gut that it's becoming more. And then you use your tongue, in doses. It's all the better, the more deliberate it is. Tip of your tongue on my bottom lip will make me melt, the whole thing down my throat? Not so much.” 

Dean grins as Cas sighs. “Again, you make it sound so easy.”

“It's really a learning by doing thing.” _And I'd love to show you._

Cas turns his head and Dean's heart stops.

He can feel Cas' breath ghosting over his upper lip, he can feel it catch in the stubble of his beard. Their breath mingles between them, and Dean huffs. If that isn't an invitation.

He leans in, carefully, slowly, giving Cas all the time in the world to pull back if he needs to. And yet, he does not expect Cas' reaction.

“Dean, wait,” he mutters.

Dean groans. “Yeah?”

“Not the perfect moment.”

“It doesn't _need_ to be perfect,” he doesn't even bother to conceal the exasperation in his voice.

Cas shakes his head. “We can do better than this.”

“Can we?” Dean asks on principle. He would lie if he said he wasn't disappointed.

“Yes, we can,” Cas chuckles.

Dean can't help it, he whines in the back of his throat. As some kind of retribution, he buries his head in Cas' neck, kisses his collarbone.

Cas groans, and oh, that is one delicious response.

“You are playing dirty, Dean Winchester.”

Dean hums, flicks his tongue against the sensitive junction point, just the tip. Then he leans back, sits up, propped on his elbow, to watch Cas, breathing heavily, looking up at him with bright blue eyes.

“The windshield isn't exactly comfy, maybe we should move this either to the backseat or back home?”

With a sigh, Cas nods. “Let's go home.”

  
***  
  
Dean starts on the Impala, early the next morning.

The small repairs are done easy enough, but the big one, the front suspension, will take him all day, at least. Dropping the axle, fixing the control arms and dampers and then reversing the whole process with part of the motor unplugged, having to drain the fluids – well, she needs an oil change anyway. He has work to do.

Cas pops in around lunchtime, eyeing Dean up and down as he finds him bent over the open hood. Dean takes his time, of course, gives Cas all the time he wants, to look. Smirks over his shoulder, because he can.

And Cas is blushing up to the tips of his ears, which is all kinds of cute.

They eat pasta that Cas brought from a small restaurant in Italy, sitting on the trunk of the car, staring out the open garage. Dean has a million and one teasing comments ready on the tip of his tongue, about Cas' kink for him as a mechanic, but he doesn't say anything. Cas keeps stealing glances when he thinks Dean isn't looking, and it makes Dean both proud and a bit nervous.

Not that he isn't used to Cas stealing glances at him, because he always has, ever since Dean has met him.

Of course, by the end of the day, Dean has found at least ten other little things that need fixing, some rust here, loose screws and a cable rupture in the wiring harness, the radiator hose, of course, but also the fan. He makes a list. If this were him still alive and on earth, he'd groan, because there's so much to do.

As it is, Dean grins. He looks forward to checking the items off that list.

He sighs when he notices that it gets dark outside.

Cas has been tending to the front lawn all afternoon, pulling weeds and planting ten kinds of flowers Dean doesn't recognize, and he has kept on stealing glances. They barely exchanged two sentences, but Dean caught Cas nodding along to Metallica, and it made him feel that pang of affection, deep in his chest, again. Every time it hits him, it feels weird – weird to get used to it, weird to get to have this, weird to call Cas  _his._ His partner. His lover.

Not that Dean didn't also notice the working pants Cas wore again. It's hard to overlook that ass in those pants.

Putting the list aside, he unhooks the metal rod that keeps the hood propped up and lowers it carefully over the engine bay, cleans his hands on the rug in his back pocket afterwards.

“All done?” Cas asks at the clang of the hood falling shut. He gets to his feet, walks up the driveway and steps into the garage.

“For now,” Dean turns fully around, grins, can't not grin, because Cas looks ruffled and there's a streak of soil across his cheek and ok, Dean can see the appeal. Cas' forearms and legs are just as dirty as Dean's, and at least it doesn't matter where they're touching now. 

Dean opens his arms for Cas to step into his embrace. He really needs some physical contact, realizes he craves it. The perks of being in a relationship.

Cas' expression is soft, the crinkles around his eyes relaxed, his lips slightly agape. Something in his blue eyes shifts when he reaches Dean, and  _oh._

Dean wants to kiss him. Has wanted to kiss him for way too often now. Should he?

He feels the proverbial butterflies in his stomach when Cas stops right in front of him, and they both seem to be at a loss for words. Cas' hands trail down Dean's sides, thumbs hooking into the loose waistband, riding low on his hips.

“Hi,” Dean flirts, shamelessly, because why not.

A few things happen all at once.

Cas leans down, grabs his thighs right under his ass, inhuman strength lifting Dean on top of the hood of the Impala. With a shuffle of his feet, Cas stands between his spread knees, too close and yet not close enough when both of his hands reach up. Dean reflexively goes for his shoulders to steady himself, his stomach suspended in mid-air from the unexpected display of power. Which, holy shit, hot as hell. That Cas is able to lift him, just like that.

And then Cas' hands are on either side of his neck, pulling him down those last few inches to close the gap, and then Cas' lips are on his.

Dean makes a sound of surprise, some kind of pathetic wail which he is not proud of, but when he realizes that Cas is  _kissing_ him, he smiles into it.

Smiles, tilts his head, and shows Cas what learning by doing is all about, the flutter in his stomach bursting into a million tingling shocks cursing through his veins.

Dean kisses Cas, slow and deliberate and soft, and Cas' lips are pliant and open under his. Dean shows him how to feel every ridge, every valley of his bottom lip and how to trace it. Shows him how erotic the tip of his tongue can feel, little kitten licks against his upper lip that make Cas go boneless in his arms. He returns it all in kind, just as slow, just as deliberate, just as loving. Dean lets him.

Dean's heart is bursting at the seams with so much love for this guy.

He doesn't know how long they are making out in the garage, dirty and filthy with Dean perched on top of the hood of the Impala.

His ribcage feels just about ready to implode as one word echoes in his mind:  _Finally._

Worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's so proud of these two boys? I am! Are you? 
> 
> Now this will be the last update before Christmas, but as usual, expect the next chapter to be up by the end of the week (depending on how I get my writing done over the holidays). For anyone who's worried: no, we are not nearly done. And when I started this, I did not expect it to clock in at this wordcount, holy smokes.
> 
> Merry Christmas to everyone who's celebrating - and happy holidays to all of us! Stay safe & healthy. Thank you for being here <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Cas drives Baby, a corny Wild West date, and a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise and happy holidays to all of you!

It's like a dam broke.

They can't stop, can't think, don't want to.

Dean can hardly say he feels starved of being touched, because they've touched  _a lot_ recently, but not like this. The kissing is all hands and teeth and  _he can't think._

It's freedom and relief and it's not perfect, just like Dean thought it wouldn't be. There's awkward pauses and overenthusiastic nips that turn into bites. When Cas becomes too eager, he pulls back, lets him wait and reboots.

But they are kissing, just kissing, hands on each other's shoulders and waist and in each other's hair, for god knows how long. The way Cas responds to every tilt of Dean's head, every stroke of his hand, every little sigh that escapes his lips, it's gorgeous. It's everything Dean ever wanted and then some.

Dean has to remind himself that he needs to breathe every once in a while.

When he pulls back, he finds Cas ruffled, lips kiss-swollen and red, his eyes hazy and his hair a mess.

He chuckles. If he didn't know any better he'd say Cas looks freshly fucked.

That makes an interesting twang tighten his lower abdomen. Want, desire. What  _will_ Cas look like, freshly fucked, still in bed?

He'll find out. He can wait for that.

And as if he didn't have a semi already, Dean finds himself fully hard, dick straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Cas is still standing between Dean's spread legs, which is not making things easier to conceal.

Then again, he doesn't need to, does he?

Cas is his partner, his lover, he knows they're on the same page about this, they know what they want from each other. Well, eventually.

Pushing against Cas' body, Dean slides off the hood and into his arms. Wraps his arms around Cas' middle and walks him towards the door to the house. Cas complies, leaning back in for another kiss, and it's like they're fused together all the way to the bathroom – at least there are no stairs to tackle.

Dean still kisses Cas, hungry, unrelenting, as he works his pants open, gasping into his mouth when he finds Cas' hard cock underneath. He doesn't touch him, slips his hands under the waistband and pulls his work pants down, doesn't stop to let Cas step out of them. Tugging at Cas' shirt is an easy choice, they know they both need a shower anyway. Cas groans, maybe a bit impatient, but mostly frustrated. His hands are curling into Dean's plaid overshirt, trying to get it off.

With a huff and a smirk, Dean steps back and pulls his shirt off, and Cas steps out of his pants, which are pooling around his ankles. Dean's tank top follows, Cas makes quick work of it. Socks and underwear they tackle themselves, and then they're finally, finally naked.

Dean grins, grabs Cas' hand, pulls him under the shower.

Kissing with both of them naked is a whole different affair. He feels the shift in how he kisses, he feels the urgency in the way Cas touches him, in the way he moves. This is not about that, though, so to distract Cas, Dean grabs the bottle of shower gel and with a daring wink, starts lathering up Cas' chest and arms. As soon as he is sure that Cas knows what he's up to, he steals another set of tiny, innocent kisses.

Dean feels almost nauseous, in all the best ways, from what they're doing. He's both nervous and beyond happy, just delirious with how much in love he is, with how gratifying it is to know that he's loved and wanted, too. It's heady, intoxicating, it's making him dizzy.

Cas pushes them together, and the foam on his chest spreads on Dean's. Like any bad porno, they slide against each other, hands caressing muscles, running over arms, and Dean swallows Cas' moans right up. Their lips are drawn together, again and again, like magnets finding their way instinctively, locking, unlocking, gasping.

“Cas,” is the first thing Dean says since Cas planted his ass on the Impala's hood. Then, with more emphasis, _“Cas.”_

“Yes?” not waiting for an answer, Cas captures Dean's lips again. There are fingers, carding through his wet hair, rubbing at the base of his neck.

Dean wants to purr under Cas' ministrations, it's that good. Satisfying, scratching an itch, soothing.

“Good call there,” Dean laughs, melts into the touch. 

Breathe, he needs to breathe, and yet, everything Cas does is giving him heart palpitations and his dick has been on edge for the past hour or so.

“Hey, um. Can I wash your hair?” Dean asks. Distraction, he needs distraction. Cas nods, and Dean pushes at his shoulders. Nice, muscular, broad shoulders. “Turn around.”

So he pours shampoo into his hand and works his hands through Cas' thick dark hair, massaging his scalp and enjoying the view of his back and shoulders on display. After he rinses the suds out, Dean kisses down the side of his neck, lips sliding over wet, warm skin, over his collarbone and up to his jaw and Cas sinks against his shoulder when Dean steps around him.

“That felt amazing,” Cas mumbles, barely audible over the rush of the water. “May I do the same for you?”

Dean nods, turns around. Cas has to reach up, but he's tall enough for it to not be awkward.

They really fit perfectly.

Cas' hands on him are slow and gentle, taking their time, and Dean closes his eyes, enjoys every second, ever tap of a finger, every scratch of a fingernail.

Unfortunately, it's over all too soon.

When they get out of the shower, Dean sees his shit-eating grin mirrored on Cas' plump lips, and he has no idea how he will be able to take this any more. His heart can't take it.

And it's so easy, too.

How is it  _that_ easy?

So easy to peck Cas on the lips once they're both dry. So easy to have Cas step up behind him as he gets clothes from the closet, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, his hand trailing along his neck and shoulders. So easy to walk up to a half-dressed Cas, standing on one leg in front of their bed, tipping his chin up and steal another kiss because clearly, they have to make up for lost time.

“Do we have dinner plans?” Cas asks, in-between kisses. They can't get enough, both of them, and it makes Dean giddy.

“It's Tuesday,” Dean answers, like that explains everything. Maybe he should clarify. “Tuesdays is LAN party night at the Roadhouse, so I would've headed over there later. You comin'?”

“Of course,” Cas nods, leans up to kiss him, again.

It's amazing how they got the hang of it so quickly.

“You _really_ like kissing me,” Dean notes, smug.

Cas shrugs with his shoulders only, hands at Dean's waistband again, thumbs under his shirt. He doesn't hesitate to answer, “As do you,” with a smile equally as smug as Dean's, and damn attractive, too.

Dean hums in agreement and pulls Cas in by his neck, lips meeting with slow and sensual moves. He kind of wants to see how far he can push, how far he can go to show Cas what he meant. They already got a loose, teasing, open-mouthed thing going, all it'd need would be for Dean to deepen that, tilt his head a bit, show Cas how filthy french kissing can be.

The stubble rubbing against his cheek, he doesn't mind it. Hasn't minded it, from the very beginning. But as much as he'd like to explore and as much as he looks forward to it, maybe it's better to leave well enough alone. Go with just kissing tonight, since that's new enough. And, honestly, the kissing is so good, anything more might have Dean spontaneously combust.

“When we're at the Roadhouse tonight,” Cas throws in, fingers curling into Dean's shoulder to push him off a bit, get some space between them. “Are you okay with... us kissing in public?”

Dean thinks about it. It's probably not a bad idea to define boundaries beforehand. He thinks about Ellen and Bobby and Rufus and Ash and Jo. Neither of them would have anything to say about it. And if there's some hunter who'd had an issue with it, Dean feels confident to tell them to fuck off.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice is raspy and deep and like maybe he didn't talk all that much lately. After clearing his throat, he adds, “Maybe not like this, just now, but kissing is fine.”

“Why not something like this?”

And of course Cas would question it. “Too intimate. This--” Dean pecks him on the lips, short, sweet, tips his forehead against Cas', nudges his nose with his. “All good for public.” And shit, but he knows he's going to do it, has to do it, now. “The following, not so much.” With his thumb under Cas' jaw, he tilts his chin up, kisses him slow and hard and urgent all at once, and Cas opens his mouth willingly for Dean's tongue to trace the inside of his lips, curling it behind Cas' teeth and around his tongue.

It elicits the sweetest noise from Cas – something between a helpless moan and a surrendering sigh, guttural and deep and going straight to Dean's cock.

Dean retreats. He has to, for his own sanity. Breathes, shakes his hips a bit because his underwear is sticking to his hard dick, and that's not comfortable.

“I think I understand,” Cas states, chest rising and falling rapidly with hard breaths. His eyes are electric, molten ice, fire under blue steel, and he grins. “Dean, I'm--”

Dean smirks, rolls his hips into Cas' as an explanation and to shut him up. It works. “Yeah, me too. Not today, though.” Spontaneous combustion and all that.

“Take our time?” Cas doesn't sound surprised or disappointed.

Dean nods, wraps his arm around Cas' waist. “Zap us to the Roadhouse? Baby isn't exactly run-and-drive, right now.”

Cas looks at him, over his shoulder to the bed, eyes flickering darkly as if he's pondering the pros and cons of doing what Dean asked him to versus throwing Dean onto that bed and having his way with him.

For a moment, Dean doesn't think he'd object to either.

A second later, Dean finds himself at the bar of the Roadhouse, the door to Ash's room in the back still open, now that the guest room is still mostly empty. It's early, and a Tuesday.

But when Dean and Cas step through the door, Jo is fiddling with the consoles – today, it's a Wii, Dean knows that much – Charlie prepares what looks like instruments made out of plastic with colorful buttons, and Ash digs through a box of batteries.

“Hi, guys,” Dean waves to the room at large. 

Within a minute, Dean and Cas have a beer each, Jo argues with Dean over who gets to play the guitar first, Cas amicably settles for the drums, while Charlie explains the difference between 'hard' and 'pro' mode to Dean, and Ash rolls a blunt.

It's going to be a good night.

Jo and Charlie practically sit atop of each other, because even with Ash opting for the floor, the couch is too small for two guys the size of Dean and Cas  _and_ two women. They don't seem to mind, though, chuckling and whispering to each other.

Just looking at them makes Dean grin. It's great to see Charlie happy. She clearly basks in Jo's attention.

Ash conjures up a huge platter of burgers and snacks. It plops onto the floor beside him with a clang.

“We ready?” Ash asks, setting up the game.

Dean holds up his index finger and grabs two of the burgers, handing one to Cas. They just smell too damn good.

“Where's Kev today?” Dean asks as Ash clicks through the menu screen.

Ash shrugs, “He'll come by later, usually. Maybe forgot to put a book down. Trust me, though, you do  _not_ want to have him here for Guitar Hero.”

“Why?” Dean asks around a mouthful of cheeseburger, lettuce almost dropping from the corner of his lips as he speaks.

Beside him, Cas hums in appreciation, and Dean claps his hand onto his thigh, leaves it there.

Charlie chips in, “You think I'm good because I manage most songs on Pro? Kevin plays 'Through the Fire and the Flames' on Pro.”

“Let me see that,” Dean says, and Charlie picks up her phone, opens Youtube and shows him a video. Just the first solo, colorful buttons flying over the screen so fast Dean's eyes go crossed, makes him shake his head. “Holy fuck.”

Jo and Charlie nod in misery.

“He gets _very_ competitive about it,” Ash burps. “He's been banned from all of the older games, the ones that don't have a band mode yet.”

“We're gonna kick his ass at Rabbids later,” Jo decides. “The only mini game he beats us in is the burping game.”

They all snicker, and Cas looks at Dean like Dean knows, but fat chance. Dean shrugs.

“You'll see,” Charlie says. “So, first song? Any opinions?”

Ash hands the mic over to Dean, who goes, “Gimme 'Eye of the Tiger'.” Without hesitation.

Jo, the little shit that she is, picks some song by a band named 'Paramore'.

“Oh, c'mon, what? I don't even _know_ that song,” Dean complains.

“Sing it! It's a nice song. Nice rhythm,” Jo pokes his side.

Dean rolls his eyes and sings along the best he can – he won't admit that the song is kind of catchy, though. Taylor Swift he can admit to listening to and liking, and if that's okay, this is, too.

After each round, they change instruments, and Cas is surprisingly good at the drums – until Ash throws in Lamb of God, because of course he does, because he has the microphone – even though seeing an angel of the lord thumping wooden sticks onto a cheap-ass plastic drum set is the epitome of 'this is your life now, Dean Winchester.' He snorts at the thought.

He's not even half bad at 'Man in the Box' on medium, with the guitar. Dean gets why this game might be fun.

On the next rotation, Dean gets the mic again and insists on Eye of the Tiger, again. Jo picks REO Speedwagon because she will never stop that shit with him. With three beers and a shot of Tequila in him, Dean sings it from the heart, and right at Cas, who's sans instrument for the song, picking at the label of his beer bottle with a neutral expression.

Thing is, his non-expression speaks volumes. The tilt of his head, the barely noticeable curl of his lips, the left eyebrow tipped up, just so. It all reads sheepish and cute and adorable.

Jo mock-gags, Charlie rolls her eyes at them, fond but exasperated. The 'get a room' is implied. From the two chicks who've been cuddling all evening. Charlie's hands are around Jo's waist. Not even him and Cas are  _this_ touchy with each other. Well, not in a semi-public setting, at least.

“You pick that song for me, you deal with the consequences, Joanna Beth,” Dean literally drops the mic after the song. Onto the couch.

Jo grins, and holds on to Charlie's shoulder as she gets up, “I'm sure it's you who has to deal with the consequences, big guy,” she says as she passes him, her delicate fingers stroking his cheek. “Anyway, I'll be right back!”

With no idea what she means, Dean turns to Cas, whose sheepish smile has turned into something deeper, more focused, eyes entirely on Dean. There's that spark, in them, again. Dean quirks an eyebrow at him, lifts his hand in a one-armed shrug.

Cas grabs his hand, pulls him forward, into his body, and kisses him. Right there, on the couch in Ash' room.

Dean deliberately overhears the cat-calls and the theatrical gasps in favor of saving his beer from being spilled all over both of them, sneaking his arm around Cas' back, and pulling him in for another kiss. It's chaste and sweet, and Dean grins into Cas' neck afterwards.

“That was very enticing,” Cas mumbles, meant for Dean's ears only.

“You're welcome,” he answers, then leans back to sit like he did before, even if his shoulder is now against Cas'.

Charlie wears that shit-eating grin again. “So, what's new with you two? I need an update. Haven't seen that before.”

Dean deflects, teases her instead. “What's new with you and Jo?”

At that Ash promptly opens a new can of beer and sets it to his lips, head tilted back as he drinks.

“Ouch, Dean,” Charlie sits back, but she's still smiling. “We're working on it. Well, I am.”

“Sorry, touchy subject?” Dean backpedals, surprised that it is. He never meant to do real harm, but if teasing is already too much, he better shut up. “I wasn't aware.”

Ash is still drinking.

Charlie has that look on her that Dean recognizes from Sam, when he doubles down on a research source that is exactly what he's looking for. “Can I ask you something?”

Dean nods around a mouthful of beer, swallows before he says, “Sure.”

“Wait, one thing first. Are you good with labels now or do I have to find a way to talk around the fact that you're banging a dude but also love boobs?”

That makes Dean snort. Bisexual, swinging both ways, potatoe-potato. “Call it whatever.”

“So, when you realized you were bi,” Charlie goes for the sledgehammer, “What was your first reaction, your first thought?”

Ash gets up, his can now empty, and wordlessly tugs at Cas' sleeve, nods his head to come with him. Through the open door to the guest room, Dean sees them sit down at the bar, Ash pouring shots for them.

He's glad Ash read the room right, though. Maybe because these are things he doesn't want to hear from Dean, either, but still.

Ash blows him a kiss from behind the bar, a 'you're welcome' and Cas frowns as he does three shots in a row, in sync with Ash.

“Not my first reaction, but my biggest problem, still?” Dean muses, turns back around to fix Charlie with a careful look. “The thought of sleeping with him weirds me out. No, that's not the right word. It's. I've never been attracted to guys, not really, I guess? Not to the point of actually wanting to sleep with them. I noticed hot guys, I mean, I have eyes.”

There's a smirk playing around Charlie's lips. “Have you considered you're maybe biromantic but heterosexual?”

Dean waves her off, “No, that's not... I google, okay. It's not that. I told Cas this, so he knows, I can't compartmentalize love and sex. Sex without love is okay, but love without sex, doesn't compute up here,” he taps his temple. “I want to sleep with him, it's just a mental thing. And we'll get there. We'll make it work, 'cause we want it to.”

Charlie sighs, a defeated, “Yeah.”

Dean curls his arm around her shoulders, tucks her against his side. “What's up, Charlie? I feel like I'm missing half the story here.”

“Jo.”

“Mmhm.” _Obviously._

“What can you tell me about her?”

Dean huffs. “Strong, hard-headed, feisty. Knows what she wants. Had the biggest crush on me when we were younger.”

Charlie raises her eyebrow at him. “Really? She never mentioned it.”

“Yeah, she hates it when I mention it, but she also knows I hate REO Speedwagon, so.” Dean smiles a gummy smile at Charlie. Sweet revenge.

At least that makes her chuckle.

“Maybe that's why,” Charlie muses, leans her head against Dean's shoulder.

Dean waits.

“She knows I crush on her, hard. Have been for a while now. Any and all hints at something haven't stuck, so far,” Charlie swallows. “Maybe it's because she knows how much one-sided crushes hurt.”

“I've seen how she is with you, though,” Dean ponders, remembers different times, different feelings. “Mixing up those signals, doesn't she.”

Dean stares at Cas, at the bar, having an obviously stilted but – at least on Ash' part – amusing conversation.

“You know, it's not like that at all with me and Cas,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“You said, what was my reaction to realizing I was bi,” Dean reiterates. “I didn't react to that.”

With a blink and a scowl, Charlie waits.

“I told you how he dropped the L-word, right--”

“Lesbian?”

It's Dean's turn to stare at a gummy grin.

“Sorry, never mind. He told you he's in lesbians with you, go on.”

Dean must look like a dumbass, because Charlie's smile turns fond. “Seriously? Scott Pilgrim.”

Dean shakes his head, confused.

“Ok, we're so gonna watch it next time for movie night. Your presence is mandatory. It's about a guy who in order to date his current girlfriend, has to defeat her seven evil exes. One's a girl. Scott has a gay best friend.”

Dean laughs, from the bottom of his lungs, although he quickly turns serious again. “Okay, sounds awesome. So. He told me he loves me, I barely get out a 'me too' and there's the Empty and he's gone and I'm just sitting in the bunker with that info-bomb and no one to bounce it off of. And my head goes spinning, alright. Just down in the trenches, roller coaster ride into rock bottom. I never had my eye on Cas, not like that. Sure, we had this... thing going. Profound bond, whatever. I knew he had my back. I knew we were friends, we were close, he knew stuff about me that even Sam didn't. And suddenly, knowing what I did, my mind was busy picking it all apart. All the years, everything that happened. And it just. Hit me.”

He has put off thinking about those moments. Too much pain, too much emotion. No time to deal, just denial, denial, denial. A prayer against the cold, hard floor, staring at an iron devil's trap and his own shoes, unable to get up.

_Cas, you son of a bitch, you don't get to do this, you don't get to drop this on me and just leave. You don't get to leave me with this pile of feelings. You don't get to leave before I can't even properly answer you. Cas, get your ass back here. Cas. Castiel!_

Charlie nudges his elbow. “To be fair, some of the fans online argued that you were banging since... when did the fourth part of the series come out? About nine years ago.”

“What?” Dean splutters. “Back when he was all stick-in-his-ass and 'I raised you from perdition'?” He drops his voice even further for that last half-sentence.

With a serious nod, Charlie shrugs.

Dean sighs. He's not going to get into this. “Anyway, there were bigger things to tackle, so I didn't have time to deal with his confession. But it was the first step of realizing that yeah, he was special. Is. Always will be.” Dean looks over at the bar, at Cas' back broad, his profile to die for, straight nose, strong jawline, plush lips. Lips he hasn't kissed nearly as often as he wished he would've. He wears one of Dean's classy light gray button-downs that hugs him just right. Dean's dick stirs, and this is not the time, so he focuses back on Charlie and on what he intended to say in the first place. “And it wasn't a sexuality crisis for me, still isn't, rather a... Hm. I dunno. It wasn't about my identity. It was about him loving me, and all the consequences of that. It was this knee-jerk reaction that surprised me because  _of course I love him back,_ but what does that  _mean?_ You know?”

“You were wondering if you could reciprocate, because it's Cas,” Charlie summarizes. “It wasn't a question of what's attached to Cas.”

“Yeah, well, technically, Cas has no gender anyway.”

“I know.”

“But there's still an extra dick involved,” Dean chuckles. “But we're figuring that out. Making it up as we go. We're good at that.”

“Yeah, can't help you there,” Charlie smiles. “But you sound confident, that's... wait. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. But, I gotta ask. Have you two been... doing things, yet?”

“Why are you so interested?” Dean draws his eyebrows together, though the honest curiosity in Charlie's eyes already has him forgiving her preemptively.

Avoiding his eyes, Charlie leans back against him. “Sorry. I want to see you happy and it's great seeing you settle into your own skin. Coming to terms with your sexuality, finding your pride in it. It makes  _my_ pride flare up, gives me hope.”

Dean breathes, deep in, deep out. That concept of pride, he's not sure if it's for him. Not like he'll march at a pride parade waving a rainbow flag anytime soon. He's only beginning to grasp it. “Okay, let's just say that there have been situations that have led to orgasms.”  _One situation, technically, but two orgasms._

Charlie giggles. “And was it as weird as you thought?”

“No, not at all,” Dean shakes his head, then realizes they've been talking about nothing but him for a while now. “But this isn't all really about me, is it?”

A heavy sigh.

“Have you told her?” Dean asks, trying not to go around assuming things.

“No.”

_Ah, thought so._ “But she knows?”

“We kissed. Made out. Several times.” An eyebrow, high on Charlie's forehead. Red, chin-length hair falling into her face as her eyes drop to the floor.

Dean's mouth forms around an  _Oh,_ but he doesn't voice it.

“Whenever I'm here, she'll hug me hello, and not like a friend would. She sits on my lap, she calls me 'babe'. She will let me get my hands on her and touch me right back, above clothes though. We've slept in the same bed, again, several times,” Charlie ticks off her fingers as she recounts. “Now tell me, what should I believe?”

Dean smiles. “I think you shouldn't give up hope. It took Cas and me twelve years to get to the fun part. You're already there.”

“I don't think that comparison stands on equal footing,” Charlie objects, sounding amused despite everything. “But I'm glad you think so.”

“Maybe it doesn't,” it's Dean's turn to sigh. “I mean, ever since I got to heaven, I've had basically everyone tell me they already knew, had heard about me and Cas through the Grapevine. Everybody just assumed we were a thing. Told me I've had tomatoes on my eyes.”

“How's that make you feel?”

He has to think about that for a while, and decides that he doesn't need to filter his answer here, not for Charlie. “Mostly? Elated. Makes coming out easier. But also like a dumbass. Wasted so much time, when we could've had it all. And a bit angry. Like, why now, why not tell us back when we were down on earth. All we got was mockery and taunts at best, or they used us against each other. It fucking sucked,” Dean grumbles.

“I know,” Charlie says. “I know what it's like to be nothing but the punchline to a joke.”

Dean gulps, a lump forming in his throat, a snap clicking shut around his rib cage, making it hard to get some air. “This got way too serious, too soon.”

“Yeah.”

“Want me to talk to Jo?” Dean offers.

Charlie smiles. “That's sweet, but no. This is something she needs to see for herself.”

“It really is,” Dean answers, staring again at Cas at the bar. Jo has joined Ash behind the bar and Kevin sits on a bar stool next to Cas, chatting. As if he felt Dean's eyes on him, Cas turns around and after a blink, gestures at him if it's safe to come back.

Dean waves them back in.

Without a second's hesitation, Jo sits down on the armrest, feet and legs slung over Charlie's lap. “Hey, babe,” she smiles as Charlie immediately turns back to her, away from Dean.

Dean decides that he can still file this away under revenge for REO, so when Cas sits down next to him, he leans in to peck him on the lips and say, “Hey, babe,” too.

Cas levels him with a nonplussed look. Ok, so no nicknames.

Dean grins. “Couldn't resist.”

Cas shakes his head in a way that Dean knows means he's lucky he's cute. He laughs anyway, heart jumping with joy.

“So are we playing Rabbids or not?” Kevin throws into the room. “Hi, Dean, by the way.”

Dean has a hard time prying his eyes away from Cas to wave at Kevin. “Hi, Kev.”

When they get to the burping game, Dean can't stop laughing. Shaking the Wiimote up and down in a jerking motion. Then pushing the button to open the soda bottle and, mimicking Ash' stunt with the beer can before, holding it up to your mouth to drink it down. That stupid mini game has all the sexual implications that Dean's mind, which is very comfy in its gutter, thank you very much, just cannot ignore.

He curls into himself from laughing too hard and hands the controller to Cas when it's his turn to burp.

Kevin still wins the round, Ash a close second.

“That game is rigged anyway,” Ash snorts.

They play until another refill is in order, both drink-wise and mentally, and Dean hasn't laughed so hard in years. The whole game is childish and inappropriate and ridiculous in all the ways Dean loves.

“Nothing new about Sam, so far?” Kevin asks in a lull of conversation.

“No,” Dean shakes his head, the question not the kicker in the gut he expected it to be. The conversation drifts elsewhere, but Dean doesn't follow.

Sam hasn't been on his mind as much, these past days. And maybe Dean does feel a bit guilty about it, but it's heaven. He's fine and Sam will be fine, too.

There really wasn't any time to mope around while hanging out at Bobby's, working on the Impala, going on dates with Cas, spending entire mornings just talking, naked, in bed, showering with Cas, having breakfast together.

With Sam around, these things wouldn't have happened the way they happened.

Jack's words echo in his head.

_Heaven doesn't only work the way you want it to, but also the way you need it to._

The week and a half he's had in heaven so far, it's been full of people he loves. Full of people who are his friends and family, who support him, who welcome Cas with open arms if he wasn't already family to them, anyway. Tuesdays are video game nights, he works at the Roadhouse on Friday and Saturday nights and he's going to his parents' house for Sunday dinner – and he has a feeling that this tradition will stick around even once Sam gets here.

Dean looks at Cas, finds him staring right back. They share a private little grin, and Dean rests his hand on Cas' thigh. Cas' palm lands atop of his, squeezes. They don't need to hide, and he doesn't feel the need to do so. He doesn't even care what his father has to say about it, because he will have to get over it.

No qualms whatsoever about that. No shame.

Only love, when Cas grins at him like that.

Only the need to kiss him.

So Dean does, feels proud that he can do so.

This time, Jo doesn't mock-gag. Maybe because Dean's hand is in Cas' hair and maybe because the kiss is a bit much.

He can't get enough of Cas' mouth and he's drunk on it and he really has zero shame left about the whole thing.

Dean leans back in, then goes back in, kisses Cas again.

More than anything, Dean loves getting to know what Cas tastes like – sweet like beer, tangy from tequila, and at the back, there's this characteristical taste that Dean already knows is all Cas.

And he gets to have this now, so he'll damn well take it, because Cas makes him damn happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's our title drop from Dean! I know this chapter is all fluff but we're all here because we need all the fluff we can get, aren't we? And theeen... well, look forward to chapter 12.
> 
> As always: so so happy about all your comments. I'm floored. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean and Cas kiss like they have 12 years to catch up on, it's gaming night at the Roadhouse, and Charlie needs some reassurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you notice that this fic is like 95 % dialogue? Well. We need a break. Enjoy!
> 
> If you like to listen to music while reading: Def Leppard - Pour some sugar on me

Suddenly, the noise vanishes, and the couch they're sitting on is not Ash's couch anymore, but a bed – their bed, their sheets, their _home_ – and Dean doesn't hesitate tackling Cas down onto the mattress, pinning him with his body as he crawls over him. He can't help but grin with anticipation.

Want is curling, low in his gut, at the prospect of Cas under him, sex hair and all.

“I figured we should continue that kiss somewhere more private,” Cas supplies helpfully, adding a layer of deep-and-sexy-as-hell voice.

Dean bites his own bottom lip and sits up, straddling Cas' hips. Fuck the red tape.

Never breaking eye contact, he starts stripping – pulling his shirt off with a lazy roll of his hips.

Somewhere in the house, Def Leppard starts playing, and it makes Dean smirk. _Ah, heaven. Perfect._

Underneath him, Cas takes a deep breath. Hands travel up Dean's jean-clad thighs, but stop short of where it matters, then slide back down to his knees. A tease, a promise.

Dean closes his eyes, just for a moment, groans when Cas' hands slide back up, and takes matters into his own hands. Sitting up on his knees, he unfastens his belt and shakes his jeans and underwear down his legs. Cas' eyes are glued to him as he slides off the bed and, sans pants, back over him, watching every move of his.

Then Dean undresses Cas, works his shirts off his shoulders, hand flattening over his stomach, running up to his chest, playing with a nipple on the way. Kissing Cas as soon as his shirt slips over his head comes natural to Dean, until Cas is arching into him with a protesting huff, because his hands are still restrained by the shirt. _That's a thought,_ Dean thinks.

With a chuckle, he kisses down Cas' jawline. The beard stubble is not fazing him at this point, he's been kissing that for days now, and it may not be smooth skin under his lips but it has an appeal all on its own. More kisses follow the line of Cas' neck and Adam's apple, stop over his collar bone because Dean knows what he's doing, of course he does. Cas groans, low in his throat, and Dean can feel that groan vibrating against his lips.

_Fuck._

He reaches down, gives his dick a few perfunctory strokes before squeezing the base, hard. Breathes in, breathes out. Mouths against Cas' flat chest which surprisingly does nothing to lessen his arousal.

Cas isn't even out of his pants yet and, that's, _no._ Not this time.

Dean breathes. Again.

Hooks his fingers under Cas' belt, flips the buckle, slides the zipper down excruciatingly slow.

When he looks up, Dean finds Cas with his hand thrown over his eyes, biting his bottom lip.

“You okay up there, Cas?”

Cas nods.

Dean laughs. “You know, watching is half the pleasure of getting undressed.”

Cas' hand drops and _oh._ Dean swallows. Those electric blue eyes are swimming with heat.

He dips his tongue into Cas' navel just to see him squirm, make him relax, before he slips his hands into the back of Cas' jeans. Cas lifts his hips with an elegant roll that accentuates those hipbones in ways Dean never thought about and that's just unfair.

When he sees the checkered boxers though, Dean snickers. “Cas, seriously, we gotta get you some nice underwear. Let's get that abomination off.”

“Why don't you like the boxers?” Cas asks, honestly curious, shoving them off in one go with his jeans. Dean sits to the side, lets him do his thing.

“They're hiding all the good stuff, you know.”

Cas looks at him, confused, but Dean only makes a mental note to bring it up later. Now's not the time. Now, he really needs to get their naked bodies together and do something about his hard cock, which is very unhappy, trapped against Cas' thigh.

Dean sits back on his heels, knees on either side of Cas' hips, and just absorbs the picture laid out in front of him.

Cas already sports half a chubby, lazily curving to the left from Dean's point of view, but Dean takes note, then ignores it in favor of once again running his hands up Cas' chest.

Lost in thought, he nibbles at his bottom lip.

It does make him think.

What it'd feel like, like this.

His dick brushes Cas', and his blood rushes south as he sighs. Can't help it. Cas' skin is hot where they touch, and every single nerve ending of Dean's is tingling with want.

“What are you thinking?” Cas asks, hands at Dean's thighs, right below his ass, grabbing hold, holding on. His hair is as much of a hot mess as it always is, so Dean brushes a wayward curl from his forehead.

“Sex,” Dean says, because why should he lie. “Like this.” _Your dick in my ass,_ Dean doesn't say, swallows it down. He can't name the feeling in his gut at the thought. Fear? No. Respect, yes, caution, too. A bit of embarrassment that he knows is entirely unjustified. And a low, scorching hot kind of arousal that is slowly driving him nuts.

“Oh,” Cas answers. “I see.” And his fingers dig into Dean's thigh, right there at the meaty part, holding him in place as he shifts his hips, though only to get a more comfortable fit.

Dropping his head back so he doesn't stare into Cas' too beautiful, too aroused eyes, Dean rolls downwards, meeting him.

That's a dick, against his, with nothing between them. And it's notably getting harder the more Dean moves. Nervous energy flares up in Dean's rib cage.

But that's Cas, Cas' hands, running upwards, hands at his hips, huge palms splayed out, fingers on his ass. All  _Cas. It's alright, it's Cas._

“Cas, c'mere,” Dean drawls, leans forward and pulls Cas in for a short kiss, one hand on his chest, the other in his neck, lips brushing Cas' ear as he asks, “What do you want? Quick and fast or--”

“Yes,” Cas groans. Dean swallows the laugh bubbling up in his chest. _So needy. So unashamed. So beautiful._

It can't be that difficult, right? He knows cocks. Well, his own. Has extensive experience with jerking it. He can do this. He straightens – well, as straight as straddling his partner, naked, in bed, can get. And suppresses to chuckle at his own internal bad pun.

For a moment, he stares at Cas' circumcised dick, curving straight up, not intimidating, nothing special, just. A dick.

Experimentally, Dean closes his hand around the base, strokes up and oh, right. He lets a tube of lube appear on the mattress, right next to him, and tries that again. 

Cas stares at him, licks his lips. Dean doesn't break eye contact as he warms the lube in his hand. The slurping noise is obscene but Dean grins, repeating it on purpose.

A hand roams over Dean's thigh again, starts at his knee, goes upwards, over his hip, up his front. _“Dean,”_ he says, the single syllable a prayer, a plea, a needy little sound Dean never expected to hear in this voice.

He starts with quick, purposeful strokes, watches in awe as Cas curls his hands into the sheets and closes his eyes. And then Dean's hand is around the head of his cock, jerks him, just the right amount of pressure, just the right alternation of quick and hard to loose and slow. Blue eyes close and plush lips fall open and Dean can't believe he gets to do this, gets to be the reason for this. He thumbs at the ridge of Cas' cock, draws circles around it with his fingertips, until Cas is a squirming mess under him.

“This alright, Cas?” he asks, not without mirth.

“Faster, please, this is maddening,” Cas states, hand clawing at Dean's thigh.

Dean uses his left hand to tug at Cas' balls, not painful, just a gentle pull with three fingers, working him over as he does.

Within five strokes, Cas is  _gone_ .

His hands are on his face, over his mouth, muffling the moan. Dean feels the tell-tale twitch in his hand, feels the head harden under his fingertips, and pumps him through it. Feels muscles tighten in his abdomen, feels Cas' back tense and his hips jerk with the intensity. As he's coming down, Dean slides off his body, lays down beside him.

And once Cas' eyes open back up, glazed over and pupils wide, Dean leans in to kiss him. “You good?”

“Yes,” Cas rasps, then grins.

For a few seconds, they just share a dopey grin between them.

After cleaning up – if one could call that cleaning up, Dean tracing lines of spunk around Cas' stomach with a proud smirk, then snapping it away – Dean rests his hand on Cas' shoulder, fits himself to the side of his body, throws a leg over both of Cas'.

Surprisingly, Dean doesn't feel freaked out or anything. It's _just_ Cas. He knows how this works. This isn't that big a deal. Dean stares into adoring, blue eyes and a beautiful smile. _It's just Cas._

But it's _Cas._

_Cas._

_I'll go with you, I detect a note of forgiveness, I cared about the whole world because of you, knowing you has changed me, you're the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know, you changed me, Dean, I love you._

Dean's heart is too full.

This is Cas. Cas, who knows him inside and out like nobody has ever known him.

Cas, who can break him with a single laugh, a single word, in all the best ways.

It's unbearable, staring into Cas' open, attentive eyes. Dean feels laid bare, vulnerable, naked as the day he was born, literally and figuratively, but. Cas is  _here,_ Cas holds  _him,_ and he doesn't know, god, he doesn't  _know_ just how much Dean's brain just fritzed out.

How can he ever make him understand, when there aren't words for this kind of stuff.

This kind of connection that surpasses life and death, that surpasses heaven and hell, that makes his heart swell impossibly and makes his stomach drop out of him at the sheer thought.

“What are we doing about you?” Cas asks, and, right, they were on a track with an orgasm for him on the horizon, too.

Dean rolls over, covers Cas' body with his. It's both maddening because now their cocks are trapped against each other's and stuck between their bodies, and he cannot move because any and all friction will have him spill all over their chests and bellies, but now that Cas' hands shift to his back and Dean can avoid looking at him, it's taking out the urgency, as well.

He breathes. Shower gel. Sandalwood. Salt. Maybe some spunk, stuck somewhere. Noses at Cas' stubbled chin, kisses it. The stubble is soft, probably from their shower earlier. He breathes. “I love you,” he whispers into Cas' ear. There aren't words for what they are. There aren't. So this will have to do.

“I love you, too,” the words come with a trail of fingertips down his neck, to his shoulders. And every time he hears it, Dean feels those words resonate in his chest, and knows, on a deep, subconscious level, that Cas, as a celestial being, as a millenia-old bigger-picture kind of guy, does not use those words easily. Doesn't use them because it's 'what you say.' No, he uses them because he doesn't have any other means of conveying his feelings, either.

Dean breathes. There's that thought again, that he's not worthy to be loved by someone like Castiel, angel of the lord.

To think that he was once convinced that angels didn't have the equipment to care, and if they did, it broke them.

And yet here they are.

Yet, here, Cas' hand strokes up and down his spine, warm, soothing.

Yet, here, in their bed, he feels Cas' love, Cas' devotion, Cas' desire, in every possible way.

There's no denying this.

_Dean, you asked, what about all of this is real – we are._

Dean buries his face in Cas' chest, and his erection has long since flagged. It's okay.

If someone would've told him, just a few months ago, that he'd get so emotional, naked in bed with his partner, that the idea of sex would fly right out the window - he would've laughed in their face. Yet, here they are.

“Sorry Cas, a bit overwhelmed here,” Dean feels the pressure build in his eyes, feels his nose clog up. He presses the fingertips of his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Fuck.”

And there's the first tear, as Dean falls into Cas' embrace.

 _Now_ he's freaking out.

“It's okay,” he feels Cas smiling against his cheek as hot tears run down into that hot mess of dark hair.

Cas lets him. Pets his hair. Kisses his neck, kisses his shoulder. Doesn't ask, doesn't expect an explanation.

Eventually, the tears stop.

They lie in bed, still, quiet, not even cold but Dean – too lazy to move – wishes the covers over them, and that's infinitely more cozy and comfortable.

He sighs. Cas places a kiss on top of his head. Places kisses over his forehead, down his temples, to the shell of his ear, against his jaw, soft little things that barely register, airy and light as a butterfly when they land on his lips. They kiss, again, and again, until Dean feels his heartbeat slow down and his hands stop shaking around Cas' middle.

Sometime later, the kiss fizzles out into short nips and little pecks and then they're just lying on their sides, foreheads against each other's, breathing in each other's warmth, wallowing in comfort and happiness.

That's how Dean falls asleep, and that's how he wakes up.

***  
  
Cas goes out gardening early after breakfast – some delicious Indian Bread upma, for variety's sake – and Dean heads to the garage to go work on Baby.

Music blares and Dean sings along when he's not talking to his car, because of course he keeps her up to speed about what he's doing.

The few rusty spots are easily dealt with, cleaned and ground down to bare metal, and the front suspension is back in a driveable state by late morning.

Dean drops her from the lift and wet-sands the ground-out rust spots, spot-welding some sheet metal into it and slapping bondo where necessary. Bodywork is a mindless kind of work he can get totally immersed with and lost in.

Cas shows up with a snack for lunch, and they sit down on the steps of the front porch to eat.

It's warm and nice out, and Dean rests his knee against Cas' and leaves it there.

Cas kisses him between bites of tzatziki, gyros, olives and pita bread. Dean tells him all about how to paint a car, about base coats and clear coats and that he's probably going to throw paint all afternoon. Cas talks about sweet maries and how elder bushes are good for bees and that his roses are growing almost faster than the weeds, and Dean listens, basks in his voice, in his presence, in the sheer normalcy of the situation.

When Cas finishes for the moment, Dean nudges his elbow. “Can you imagine, doing this on earth?”

“You mean if we ever could've lived together, like this?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, thinks about a little house with a yard in the suburbs, thinks about a devil's trap under the door mat, working a nine-to-five job to pay the bills. “Actually, I was thinking about that, you know. If I could get you out of the Empty by taking your grace from you, turning you human. The problem was how to get there, and back.”

A smile plays around Cas' lips, and his eyes are crinkling at the corners. “Because humans don't belong in the Empty. Could've worked.”

“But then we'd be two mortals and what if one of us died hunting, what then.” Dean squints into the sunlight, lets the light breeze cool him down from half a day of hard work.

“Well, maybe you wouldn't have died within a week or so, if I'd been around,” Cas teases. “Maybe we could've died from old age in our sleep and had this, here, anyway.”

Dean thinks about growing old and gray with Cas, forever those two gay uncles to Sam's son. Cas with white hair, using a cane, grumbling over the newspaper with a cup of coffee. It makes him smile.

“Yeah, maybe,” a thought hits Dean, there. “The rebar might've been dumb luck, but maybe I'd've had a better sense of self-preservation, if you would've been around, you know.”

Cas looks at him, waits.

“I didn't find a way out of it. Hunting. I knew it'd be the end of me, someday, but what else is a fuck-up like me going to do, if it's the only thing I'm good at.”

“Dean--” Cas interrupts him.

Dean shakes his head. “Cas, that was what I was thinking  _then._ I know, okay, I know now that it's not the whole truth. Without you, without a goal in life, what was I supposed to do? Every waking minute I spent I was missing you or trying to find a way to bring you back. And when that fell through--” he breaks off. “Yeah, I had a death wish anyway. And Jack said he'd fixed everything so I was hoping that you'd--”  _be here and I'll see you in the afterlife. Or at least raise some hell in heaven until I do._

Cas nods, like he understood perfectly. He wraps his arm around Dean's shoulders, squeezes once, and takes his mind off things. “To answer your question, I do think we could've made it work, built a house together somewhere, live a quiet little life, you could've run an auto repair shop with some hunting on the side. What Bobby did, be a mentor, of sorts.”

Dean sniffles. He had enough of those emotional breakdowns as of late, damnit. “And you would've been there?”

“Of course. If you'd have had me,” Cas says, head leaned back to look up at him, like he didn't just say the most non-sequitur thing ever.

Dean smiles, leans his head against Cas' shoulder, feels Cas tilt his head against his. “Of course. What would you've done, though?”

Cas hums, low in his throat. “I don't know. Accounting work? You _did_ call me a holy tax accountant once. And if we're talking about auto repair...”

Dean laughs. “Or you could've been my kept househusband.”

The implication of it sits deeper than the joke ever could hit. Dean clears his throat, touched, embarrassed. He thumbs the empty spot on his left ring finger. Yeah, maybe. Maybe one day.

Cas smiles quietly, picks up an olive to pop it in his mouth.

Those lips should not be allowed to do those things, Dean finds himself thinking. It makes him think inappropriate stuff. Like how those lips would curl around his cock.

Dean looks up at the clear blue sky and takes a deep breath. “I should get back to work.”

Cas nods in agreement, and they do just that.

***  
  
That evening, they fall asleep on the couch while 'The Great British Bake Off', season 1, flickers across the TV to an audience of exactly no one.

Cas wakes up in the middle of the night and has enough consciousness to snap them into bed.

Dean snuffles in his sleep, barely having noticed that he's naked and in bed instead of dressed and on the sofa. All he notices is Cas' arm around him, so he slots into the curve of his body, pulls his arm tighter around himself.

So what, being the little spoon is kind of awesome.

***  
  
Dean's eyes are closed, but he starts to drift towards waking up.

He doesn't want to.

Cas is firm and warm against his back, his hand splayed out on his stomach, and his chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths that puff against Dean's neck, making the little hair there stand on edge.

They're cocooned in a layer of sheets, and it's warm and perfect and Dean doesn't want to face the world just yet.

Cas pulls in a sharp breath, and stirs.

Dean entwines their fingers, presses Cas' hand down onto his stomach. _Don't let go._

A smile against his shoulder, a kiss against his neck. Dean hums, doesn't open his eyes.

All he does is shift closer, against Cas' body, against his heat and the miles and miles of gloriously naked skin.

Cas kisses a line along Dean's upper shoulder, down his neck, to his ear, to his jaw.

Dean sighs, and Cas' hand twitches in his, like he wanted to reach.

“Hm?” Dean hums, finally opening his eyes and looking backwards.

Cas' eyes are open, so blue, so focused. “I like your freckles,” he states.

Dean has the feeling that this is not what Cas meant to say, but he brushes it off nonetheless. With his free hand, he reaches up to pull Cas down by his neck to kiss him.

It's slow and lazy and will Dean ever get enough of kissing Cas? Probably not.

Because his lips feel amazing on Dean's, because he's soft and deliberate in everything he does. Because Dean loves him.

It's that thought that makes him increasingly aware of Cas' morning wood against his ass.

He didn't give it much thought, those past couple of mornings. Of course it was there, on his part, too, but it's not like that's anything special.

But there's a hard dick pushing against his ass. If he shifted his hips a bit, just a tilt – yep, then it'd sit right against the crack of his ass.

Dean's cock twitches, and at least it's his own hand atop Cas' on his stomach that gets to feel that.

He's sure that Cas felt the twitch in the muscles of his abdomen, and the tiny circle Cas' hand starts to rub into the skin there, right over his happy trail, is all the confirmation he needs. The roll of Cas' hips against him, as small as it is, is also a clue, maybe.

At least they don't have to deal with pee breaks and morning breath, because Dean would not have the patience for that, now.

He breaks their ongoing kiss to let his head drop back into the pillow, fingers still in Cas' hair, at the nape of his neck.

For a moment, they search each other's eyes for permission, for intent, for purpose.

Dean feels hot and cold all at once. Cold from where Cas is now not touching him any more, but there are hot shivers chasing each other down his spine, settling low in his gut.

Cas kisses him again, and the cold is gone. The kiss is quick, chaste, a question topped with an eyebrow that only needs to do a little twitch for Dean to hear it, clear as day.

The answer is surprisingly easy. Dean closes the gap again, licks at Cas' closed lips, turns them open and pliant against his, feels Cas' tongue curl.

And then there's the first moan, breaking the silence. Maybe it's Cas, maybe it's Dean, he doesn't know. It doesn't matter. But the moan is what tips them towards fully making out, Cas' hands roaming over Dean's chest, exploring his stomach, navel, his pecs and nipples and that's just unfair, that's an easy win, if Cas just was a bit firmer with his fingers--

And how should he know if Dean doesn't tell him. “You, um,” he stumbles, his voice rough from a night of sleeping and not talking and all, “You can pinch them just a bit more, if you'd--” and that's it, Cas' thumb and index finger tighten _just so_ and Dean arches his back. Which has all the advantages of exposing his neck. Cas jumps on that opportunity immediately, fusing his mouth to Dean's pulse point. The other advantage being that Dean can feel how hard Cas is against him, and he pushes his hips back because he's a big tease and he can own that, too.

Finally, Cas lifts his hand from Dean's stomach, trails it down, down, down.

Cas' too-deep all-sex voice in his ear. “Show me what you like.”

And then there's fingers closing around the base of his dick, Dean's hand still around it. Their range of movement is a bit impaired by the angle, but with a tip of his hips, Dean can make it work. That move also makes it possible for Cas to grind against his ass. And Dean is stuck in the middle with careful, curious fingers around his erection, and whenever that gets too much, he can roll his hips backwards to get Cas moaning into his ear. Which isn't making things easier, but he's not complaining.

Cas' touch is just like his kisses. Soft, exploring, giving Dean time to adjust. His palm is huge, his fingers deft and far from the delicate feel of a woman's slim fingers. It's a surprising rush of arousal, back down to where it matters, to realize that.

Dean guides Cas' fingers, wraps them tight around the head, and starts a rhythm.

He never thought a simple handjob could feel like this. Could feel like a hormonal rush, like the first time all over again, could feel so hot and yet so same-different. Of course he's had a hand around his dick every once in a while, one that wasn't his.

Cas' hand goes up and down, a steady stimulus, taking Dean's hand with him, altering pressure towards the tip, easing up on the downstroke, their fingers brushing his balls on every other stroke.

It's heady and need is flaring up in his body, unstoppable, all-consuming, curling down low in his balls, tightening, his dick twitching in Cas' hand.

He can't let it end that soon, though, so Dean stops, stops Cas' movement with his hand. Taking a painfully shuddering breath, he tilts his head back, eyes pressed shut.

“Dean?” Cas asks, worried.

“Hold on,” Dean says, and it comes out as a whisper. “I want to enjoy this a little longer.”

“Oh,” Cas replies, understanding dawning on him. “You were about to come?”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean states, breathless around a laugh, nerves strung tight, still so close.

Cas starts to move again, so, so slow, and Dean's whole body feels on fire, the edge right there, waiting for him to topple over. No, he needs another second. He can't. But it's right there, it's almost too much.

“I want to see you,” Cas says, fingers trailing over his balls again. “When you reach orgasm.”

And that's so blunt and so _Cas_ that Dean laughs. “Kiss me,” he requests instead, “Please.”

“But then you can't tell me if I'm doing this right.” Cas kisses him, nonetheless.

“You just almost made me come, so yes, you're doing it right,” Dean chuckles. “If you want to draw this out a bit more, use only your fingertips, or play with my balls, I like that. If you want me to come in two seconds flat, put your palm around the tip and work it over, fast, with a bit of a twist, not too much.”

Cas plays with his foreskin instead. Dean knows the fascination, has enjoyed it with quite a few women, too.

“What are you trying to do?” Dean asks, head falling against Cas' shoulder. Deep breaths. “Stalling or finishing?”

“Stalling,” Cas answers, his tone innocent.

“Not helping. Very sensitive there,” Dean huffs a breathless laugh.

“Sorry, mine doesn't have that,” Cas trails his fingers lower.

The impatient 'I know,' dies on the tip of Dean's tongue when Cas cups Dean's balls, rolling them in his palm.

Torture, this is torture. Why did Dean tell him all of this. He squirms and he teases Cas' cock as some form of revenge, but he's slowly but surely going out of his mind.

“Cas, please,” he groans into Cas' mouth. Cas smiles against him, and after a moment, does what Dean asked him to do, fast upstrokes, more pressure, a little twist. It's a bit awkward, not quite hitting the spot for Dean, so he steadies Cas' hand with his, helps by thrusting forward into their joined hands.

And just like that, there's the edge, and then it's not, and Dean looks into blue, blue eyes right before he goes under. Spills his load over his stomach and the sheets and Cas' hand. The muscles in his legs and thighs are spasming, his nerves are singing and Cas' cock is poking, hard, against his right ass cheek.

As he lies there, spent, spunk on his belly and on his hand and blissed out, he realizes he should really reciprocate. With his hand still covered in his come, he remembers. Something he heard, once. He's not yet sure if it's too much, but they can try.

Reaching around, Dean slicks up Cas' cock with his own come, and isn't that a nice sentiment, marking him. _Mine, mine, mine._

Dean's possessive streak is very pleased.

“Let me try something,” he says.

Then he lifts his upper leg, reaches down between his legs, angles Cas' dick down. Between his legs, then closes them again.

Okay, bowlegs are so not helpful here, but they can try.

Cas sighs against his neck.

Dean crosses his ankles and yes, that works. That should be some nice pressure for Cas to fuck into. “Move,” Dean winks, over his shoulder, sees Cas with his jaw down, speechless.

Slowly, Cas does. Buries his face in Dean's neck and groans.

Dean feels him, nudging against the back of his balls. He tightens his legs, and Cas groans again. “This good?”

A quick nod against his shoulder, and Cas' pace becomes faster. “Can I just--”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean kisses his hand, the one once again entwined with his, and also still covered in his own come.

Cas' thrusts turn frantic, and Dean can feel the twitch of his dick against his inner thighs, against the soft spot behind his balls, and his own cock is definitely interested, if still too spent.

He feels used and fucked and wrecked and _good._ A breathless laugh escapes Dean at a particularly hard thrust against his ass. No, he'd never thought it'd feel like this. Yes, he could get used to it. Cas holds him, hand splayed on his chest, as he holds his breath, and Dean _knows_ and pushes back against him.

That, of course, wrecks the rhythm, Cas slips from between his legs, cock slotting right against the crack of Dean's ass. It's not too early, though, so Cas just ends up spurting all over Dean's lower back, covering his ass in semen.

“Fuck me sideways,” he laughs as he comes down from that particular high, finds Cas rutting against him still with the aftershocks. “Literally.”

Cas is clearly irritated. “But we both just came?”

“No, I mean,” Dean snickers, turns half around. “Not right now. Just figure of speech. That was _good,_ Cas.”

A tiny smile. “This wasn't too much, was it?” Cas asks. “Are you okay?”

“Very,” Dean snickers.

Cas grins against his shoulder, and Dean loves that he can feel that.

Suddenly, his heart does something he hasn't felt, ever, and he knows instinctively it has nothing to do with Cas.

Cas looks at him all strange. “Do you feel that, too?”

“Yeah,” Dean frowns, rubbing at his chest. It's an ache, but it doesn't hurt. It's longing, but soothing. It's the promise of... “Sam,” Dean says, then laughs. _Sam Winchester, moment killer._

Cas nods, still smiling, but differently. “We should probably get dressed.”

“Nah, we'll just hang a sock on the door,” Dean jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this. Except we finally needed to earn that E rating. More plot next time, promise ;-)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: plot, what plot? The boys have sex, Dean has a minor revelation, some what-ifs get thrown around, and the boys have more sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll see you at the end, I bet you're as excited as I am for Sam's return. :D Enjoy!
> 
> [Here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0N1ti_pD-eg&ab_channel=sUmmerRain810) the song I'm referencing.

They skip breakfast to head over to Eileen's.

“Dean? Cas?” she's surprised to see them at the door, at first, then realization dawns on her face. “Is this about Sam?”

“Do you feel it too?” Dean asks, signing at his chest.

Eileen nods. “What's happening now?”

“I don't know.” He's restless, his limbs itching to do something, even if it is just walking around, looking for Sam. “We wait. He has to show up somewhere, hasn't he?”

“I'll stay here, then,” Eileen says. “It's our house, after all.”

Dean nods, thinks about the possibilities. The Roadhouse, most hunters show up at the Roadhouse. “Cas, can you keep a look-out at the Roadhouse?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Of course,” Cas nods. 

“And I'll just, I dunno. Drive around or something,” Dean shrugs, buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket instead of fiddling any more than he already does.

It's the final part of the puzzle. He's nervous, almost, but also elated. Looking forward to seeing his brother again. And after another deep breath, a serene quiet falls over him.

They all stare at each other, share a final nod, and part ways.

As Dean and Cas head out through the front yard, Dean grabs Cas' hand, and that's how they walk back to their house, side by side, holding hands. Seeking comfort when everything is about to change, yet again.

“Did you feel like this when I was about to die, too?” Dean asks, staring at the gravel road under his boots. 

Cas huffs amused, tilts his head back to look up at the sky. “Oh, it was worse than that.”

“Really?” Dean muses, only a bit surprised. “But, um. Makes sense, I guess.”

“I went to _your Mom_ because I didn't know who else I should tell,” Cas states, and his eyes look even bluer against the clear sky.

Dean shoots him a short, heartfelt smile. “Who is your mother-in-law now, just to reiterate that,” he grins.

“Dean, we aren't married.”

Dean bites his lips as to not either blurt out the million-dollar question, snark a 'not yet' at Cas or say something else stupid.

Cas' fingers tighten around his, a quiet reassurance that they are okay.

“I'll take the Impala for a spin. Maybe...” Dean blinks into the sun, up the hill, where the gravel road vanishes behind the trees. He and Sam spent so much time on the road. He has a feeling.

Cas nods.

At the garage, it's Cas who grabs Dean's other hand, pulls him close and kisses him, slow and loving and sweet. It makes Dean's toes curl. “Bring Sam home,” Cas mutters under his breath, and Dean taps his fingers to his temple in a silent salute.

Dean drives.

Sings under his breath, heart in his throat.

The song is named 'Brother' by some band Cas likes, not Dean's first choice of music, but it fits for what's going on. Of course it does, because this is heaven.

He rewinds the tape to listen to it again. Sings louder. And louder, once the lyrics stick.

The road is endless, and the Impala leaves only dust in its wake.

Dean drives until he reaches a bridge, and the twang in his chest makes him ease up on the gas pedal, then hit the breaks.

It's a beautiful scenery, mountains around him, the bridge crossing a wide river, water splashing over rocks as birds cry in the distance.

Dean kills the engine, gets out, breathes, prays.

_Cas, look at this. I think this is it. I feel it._

He closes the door with a creak, steps up to the bridge railing, leans one foot onto the concrete base. Looks out over the river, towards the mountains.

Dean feels Sam more than he sees him appear beside his car, their car.

He smiles a small, lopsided smile. “Heya, Sammy,” he says, like they're still kids, like he did when he was sixteen and picked up Sam from school, like he did when he was ten and Sam returned from the fill-up joint across that week's greasy motel, like he did when he fetched Sam from his college dorm, that fateful night.

Turning around, Dean takes in Sam. The hoodie is odd, it's been too long since Dean saw him wear something like it. The twitch around his lips is different, his eyes are older.

 _Forty years,_ Dean thinks. _Forty years without me, forty years thinking Cas was dead, in the Empty._

He smiles. The smile turns into a grin, mirrored on Sam's face, and they meet in a bone-crushing hug.

When they part, Dean claps his hand on his little brother's shoulder, guides him to the railing, looks at the same mountain, content. Happy. He takes a moment to wallow in this feeling, in knowing that he has everything, everyone, right here - that his heaven is well and truly complete.

His family, his friends, his partner, his brother. They're all here. Sure, some additions are still missing. Donna, Jody. Claire. But they'll get here, they have time. As they should.

For now, he'll take Sam.

Dean closes his eyes.

_Cas. Got him._

A flutter of wings.

Sam, startled by the familiar sound he hasn't heard in so long. The pure ecstatic joy spreading on his face before he takes three huge steps and wraps a smiling Cas up in a bear hug makes Dean almost emotional. Almost. Ok, so he sniffles, but that's it.

“Cas,” Sam says, elation oozing out of him with that single word, that single syllable, “Man, it's so good to see you. So good to see you alive.”

Another flutter of wings. Ok, that, Dean did not see coming.

“Hello, Sam.” But he'd know that voice anywhere. The innocent cheer, the honest appreciation.

Dean grins at Cas, and Cas pats Sam's back once before joining Dean, standing at his side. They exchange a quick grin, watch as Sam spins on his heel, and wraps Jack in a bear hug as well. “Hi, Jack.”

And then they just stand there, on the bridge, in a loose circle, and Sam looks between all of them. “So, what happened? Is this heaven?”

“This is heaven now, Sam,” Jack confirms. “Welcome.”

Dean nods. “No more walls, no more 'your own little corner of paradise', but everyone together and happy, thanks to these two,” and gestures to Jack and Cas.

“So you,” Sam tilts his head at Jack, “busted Cas out, huh?”

“Jep,” Jack beams.

Sam nods, bites his lip, “What about Eileen?”

“Waiting for you at home. We were just looking for you, since we didn't know where you'd pop up,” Dean says.

“Home?” 

“Yeah. Let's go home?” 

Cas shoots him a look, as if asking if he should zap them or if Dean wants to drive. Dean quirks an eyebrow, Cas rolls his eyes. Only a bit, more fond than actually annoyed. Dean grins. Well, if he keeps asking when he knows exactly what Dean is going to say, Dean is going to react exactly like Cas thinks he will. Cas finally breaks eye contact and shifts on his feet, elbow nudging against Dean's.

Dean smiles, a tiny private smile for Cas only.

“Why do you guys look like you just had an entire conversation,” Sam asks, distracting their attention away from each other.

_Because we had,_ Dean thinks, but shrugs, pulling at Cas' hand as he heads over to the Impala.

“Jack, you coming, too?” Dean asks over his shoulder.

“I'll drop by later, I think you have more pressing matters to address,” Jack promises. “See you!”

“Later!” Dean waves, with the car keys, because his other hand is still very much captured in Cas'.

Sam sits down in the shotgun seat.

Cas takes the back seat, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

Yeah, Dean has no idea how to address _this_ either.

Cas blinks, Dean shrugs, looks at Sam as he starts the car.

Cas motions to the car's font.  _I'll go ahead._

Dean nods, waves.  _Go tell Eileen._

And as Cas' wings announce his departure, Dean starts to drive.

“Where'd Cas go?” Sam asks, confused.

“He'll meet us there, don't worry,” Dean smiles and floors the gas pedal.

Sam laughs. “You haven't changed one bit.”

“Didn't have much time to. It's different, here, time moves different,” Dean explains the way Bobby explained it to him. “But you, forty years at least without me,” Dean prompts Sam. “What happened?”

“How much did Eileen tell you?” Sam asks back, visibly excited at mentioning her.

To think that his brother would be the guy to be married for forty years and still get starry-eyed at mentioning his wife, but of course.

“Well, a lot,” Dean shrugs, rattles off their milestones – their son, their house, Sam's job, Eileen dying before Sam, unexpectedly. When he finishes, he says, “But don't think we've been hanging out a lot. I've barely been here for, what, not even two weeks.”

Sam eyes go wide with surprise. “Oh wow. Did you even miss me?” he teases.

Dean wants to say, yes, of course. It's not a lie.

It's not the whole truth either, he realizes.

“I've been almost too busy with everything else instead of missing you, but yeah, of course. When Eileen showed up, everyone was on the edge, waiting for you. I didn't even tell Mom as to not make her hope when I didn't know how long it would take you.”

“Mom's good?”

“Of course,” Dean smiles. “She's with Dad, they have a cabin out in the woods. Dad even met Cas, you know, and that--” he huffs, shakes his head, not going into detail. “Bobby and Ellen are married, can you believe that?”

Sam chuckles.

“And Charlie is trying to woo Jo.”

“What? No way,” Sam grins.

“Yes, way,” Dean laughs. “We do video game nights, every Tuesday. Ash and Kevin, too.”

“That's... great, actually,” Sam's smile dims as he stares into the distance. “I can't quite believe it yet, you know. What do we do up here, now?”

“Well, there's movie nights, there's the Roadhouse, there's--”

“Wait, the Roadhouse? _The_ Roadhouse?”

“Yeah, Sam, _the_ Roadhouse. With Ellen and Ash and Jo. Oh, and before I forget, Mom invited us for lunch on Sunday, Cas and me. I'm pretty you're expected to tag along, too.” And yes, part of Dean is happy to not be the focus of that meal.

Now how to tell Sam.

“Can I bring Eileen?”

Dean shrugs. “I guess. I mean, if I'm bringing Cas--”

Sam interrupts him, obviously lost in his own head. “They haven't even met her yet, not even Mom. Or have they?”

“No, Sam,” Dean shakes his head. “I didn't introduce your wife to our Mom, I figured you can do that all by yourself.”

The road takes them through forests and green plains, and they enjoy the sight as much as they enjoy each other's company, shooting the shit like in the old days, mock-arguing about the music, about Dean's driving, about eating nachos while driving. Sam discovers how to summon a cup of coffee. Just to spite Dean, he also gets himself a burrito.

“Are vegan farts still toxic or are they, you know, environmentally friendly?” Dean wrinkles his nose.

“I guess we'll see,” Sam cackles.

In the silent moments between songs, each time he hits a bump in the road, the legos he'd shoved into the vents when they were kids, they're rattling. And Dean grins.

“It's been so long since we were on the road like this,” Sam muses, eventually, the lopsided grin permanently fixed to his lips. “This is literally heaven. And no monster to hunt at the end of this drive.”

“We could do a road trip, you know,” Dean offers.

“I think we had enough road trips to last a lifetime,” Sam chuckles with his eyebrows almost up to his hairline.

Dean shrugs. He'll ask Cas, then. A trip down the old, the original Route 66, over to Las Vegas. It would still be intact if he wanted it to, and wouldn't that be awesome? They could go gambling. Get stupid drunk and get married in one of those chapels off the Las Vegas strip by some Elvis impersonator. The thought makes him grin, then he discards it. If he's going _there_ with Cas, he wants to remember every second of it. And he's not talking about Las Vegas.

When they reach a familiar corner of their literal neck of the woods, Dean smiles as Sam says, “Hey, I think we're here.”

And down the small gravel road the Impala crawls.

Sam sighs at the sight of his home. “I didn't think it'd look exactly the same.”

“Yeah, so, there's this thing about your place. Cas told me that in heaven, it's not a matter of wishing for the most ridiculous thing. Heaven doesn't only work the way you want it to, but also the way you may subconsciously need it to. When Cas showed me were he lived--”

“Where does he live?” Sam throws in, curious.

“Oh, uh, just up that road, there's our house,” Dean waves up front, where the windows of their house blink through the trees, then resumes seamlessly, “But when he showed me, it was way bigger than it is now. When I came along, the house rearranged itself around me, to fit what I wanted and needed. And that's why we have a hot tub now,” he points at Sam with a smug grin.

“Of course you do,” Sam snickers, the big doofus.

Dean can't stop grinning.

When they look over to the porch of Sam's and Eileen's house, there's Cas, leaning against the balustrade, Eileen exiting the house, closing the door behind herself. Dean only grins wider.

He turns into the driveway and kills the motor. Sam is out of the car before Dean even has the car in park, and he takes the steps two at a time to reach his wife.

“Eileen--” he says, staring at his surely much younger wife, and Dean quickly looks away before they start kissing. It feels to intimate, watching the two make out, even though he feels beyond happy for his little brother.

Heart beating too slow, too loud in his chest, he gets out, shuts the creaking door behind himself.

Is this what his reunion with Cas in heaven could've looked like?

Dean walks up to Cas, takes his hand and pulls him aside to not disturb the others.

Cas has that tiny, content smile on his lips that Dean loves. Also, because they were in a hurry to get dressed, he reverted back to old habits, to a cheap suit and a blue tie and a trench coat. It almost charms Dean's pants right off, it's that cute.

As it is, Dean grabs the lapels of Cas' overcoat, smooths them down. Suppresses the need to quip at him. Leans against the balustrade behind himself, around the corner from Sam and Eileen, out of sight. And he does what came to mind more than once as a passing thought – he grabs Cas by the crooked tie, smirks and pulls him forward, right into a kiss.

Cas hums against his lips, and Dean is acutely reminded of their morning in bed. Of hot, open-mouthed kisses and a hand on his dick and a cock between his legs and this is not the time, but Dean gets hard just thinking about it, nonetheless. They should probably not do this on his brother's porch, so Dean pulls away, tips his forehead against Cas', looks into clear blue eyes and wonders again how he got so lucky.

“You wanna come in for coffee or a beer?” Eileen offers, and while Dean startles, he doesn't let it show, only lets off of Cas' tie slowly.

“If you guys would rather have the place to yourself, we'll fuck off and get off your backs, promise,” Dean offers in return. “Otherwise, sure, why not.” And the fucking and getting off, he meant literally.

“I haven't seen you for so long,” Sam says, gestures in what has to be ASL that is way above Dean's knowledge, for Eileen to understand him easier, “Come on in, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Dean nods. His hand is still at Cas' hip when they walk into the house, after Sam and Eileen.

Sam's lack of reaction bothers Dean, just a bit. He'd thought he'd never hear the end of it, once the cat was out of the bag, but he dropped multiple hints now and Sam ignored all of them. Or overheard them. It's not like Sam to overhear or oversee these things, though.

And Dean doesn't even know how much he saw, there. If he only saw Dean and Cas stand close together, or if they saw them kissing. Not that Eileen hasn't already.

A look at Cas, a questioning nod towards Sam only has Cas shrug in response, too.

Oh, fuck this.

Dean raises an eyebrow, Cas smiles a lopsided smile that is all too hot and mischievous and Dean knows exactly where he picked that up from.

“Hey, Sam, in case you haven't noticed,” Dean clears his throat, waits until Sam turns around, then without further ado, grabs Cas by the neck and kisses him, right there in front of Sam.

When they break apart and Dean risks a glance, Sam has his hand over his mouth but is clearly grinning. “Yeah?” he asks. “No, I noticed.”

Dean huffs, gestures. “Then why--”

“Well, I should hope so that you two finally got your act together,” Sam grins, pointing at Dean and Cas, signing as he talks yet again. “And if the silent conversations and the making out on our porch and the hand holding weren't a hint, the fact that you're living together makes it kind of obvious.”

So he was listening, the little shit.

Dean feels heat creep up to the tips of his ears. Cas chuckles, beside him, ducks his head.

“And you know, it's not like you have been dating for over a decade and argued like an old married couple,” Sam adds, hands flying, now biting his lip in a faint attempt to cover his amusement.

Dean frowns, nods, “Um. Yeah.”

Without another word, Eileen hands him a beer, which Dean gulps down half of in one go. “This is so not happening the way I thought it would.”

Well, he knew Sam would take the piss out of him, but this casual nonchalance about the whole matter is somehow worse. He also really can't hear this any more, the same thing over and over, the same 'oh, I knew you two were a thing'.

“Dean,” Cas nudges him, slides a hand onto his shoulder, the way he used to do for years already. “Are you... disappointed?”

“Sue me if I thought coming out to my brother would be a bigger deal than this,” Dean grumbles, sips from his beer again.

“Don't get me wrong,” Sam answers, suddenly serious. “I didn't think you would _want_ it to be a big deal, because you're... well, you, so I just... took it at face value, okay? I didn't mean to make fun of you or belittle this. Because it is great that you two are together and happy, for once.”

Dean sighs. “Sorry. And thanks, I guess.”

Sam pats him on the shoulder, and they're good. It's a silent truce.

***  
  
“The Roadhouse is mandatory tonight,” Dean had told Sam.

Sam had blinked at him, but didn't object.

So here they are, in a booth for once instead of at the bar, and Dean leans back and enjoys the fact that he is not the center of attention.

Bonus points for playing footsie under the table.

Cas is across from him, nursing the obligatory bottle of beer, and Dean is working at his second whiskey.

The atmosphere in the Roadhouse is just like that night. 

When Sam came in, it was just like when Dean got here.

The initial silence.

The questioning looks.

The whispers.

Ellen shouting. “Sam Winchester! So what or who got you here?”

After hugging him, he grinned at her, “Old age. Boring, I know.”

“Oh, now that calls for a round of champagne!”

And while Dean wasn't the biggest fan of champagne, it seemed all too fitting for a hunter having died of old age instead of a monster, of any unnatural cause of death. Of course he'd helped fill up glasses and got them out to the people, he'd even poked his head through the door behind the bar.

“Hey Ash, want some champagne?” he had hollered.

“What?” Ash had grumbled, flipping his headset off of one ear. “Champagne? Why?”

“Sam,” Dean had said, and Ash had thrown his round of Fortnite.

After the toast, the room had erupted. Over the course of the following hours, hunters arrived, hunters Dean hadn't seen in ages, hunters Dean didn't even know, who Sam met later in his life and who died before him. It seems like Sam made a huge impact on a lot of people's lifes.

Dean feels like a proud parent, and misplaced as it might be, he somehow feels validated.

He didn't want to hover over Sam all evening, felt intruding doing so, so he rather opted to sit back and relax over a drink with Cas.

Cas taps his toes against his heel, and Dean winks at him. Just a silent admission that he sees Cas, that he really looks forward to taking him home tonight.

That's another thing.

Bars, with Sam, were always one of two things: getting drunk, hustling some pool before he was too drunk to do so, or getting drunk and picking up a girl before he was too drunk to do so. Sam either participated or rolled his eyes at him.

Now, Sam is at the bar, chatting with Kevin and Charlie, and Jo bustles around the sink across the counter. Dean watches them. He'll be here tomorrow night, anyway. No need to help out today.

He can enjoy tonight.

Even Pamela had shown up and that first conversation between her and Eileen was one that had Dean snicker even after it was long since over.

And speak of the devil, that's when Pamela flops down into the seat beside him with what looks like a whiskey sour in her hand. “Hi, you two, got a spare seat for me?”

“Sure, Pamela,” Dean grins. “Nice to meet you again, how are you?”

“Good,” she blinks. “Got my eyes back since I've come here.”

“You know--” Cas starts from across the table, but Pamela shushes him.

She levels him with a firm gaze. “Feathers, I know. We're good. I don't hold a grudge, you did warn me, and look – everything turned out alright, in the end.”

“That it did,” Cas huffs, “Though I could have healed you once I had my powers back.”

“I wouldn't have let you,” Pamela snorts, amused. “And I didn't live long enough for that, anyway. But hey, silver linings – the psychic business did never run as well as from the point on where I was blind. So thanks for that.”

And she's not even sarcastic about it. Dean chuckles.

Cas opens his mouth, but then shuts up anyway.

Dean rubs his shin under the table. Blue eyes look up at him, and one edge of his lip moves upwards. It's damn attractive, and ok, there's Dean's mind, back in the gutter.

He clears his throat.

“So, found Jesse yet?” Dean teases Pamela, from the safety of behind his beer bottle.

She throws her head back with a booming laugh. “Hell, no. But, you know,” and the angle at which she looks up at him changes just so, the look in her eyes turning sultry as she props one elbow on the table. “His loss might still be your gain.” And a wiggle of her eyebrows, as if Dean didn't get it the first time.

And this is refreshing, for once people not knowing, assuming what he and Cas are or aren't. Although Dean always thought this would be the hardest part of being in a relationship, to decline such blatant offers, it comes out quick like a shot, “Sorry, not on the market any more.”

“Oh, is that so?” Pamela grins. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Dean ducks his head. 

Pamela looks around the bar. “So who's the lucky lady, before I proposition yet another wife tonight?”

With a chuckle, Dean shakes his head. “There is no lucky lady.”

“A lucky guy, then?” she seems wary. 

Dean nods, sips his beer, waits if she puts it together.

“You with a guy,” she muses instead, looking from Dean to Sam at the bar, maybe because his cackling laugh carries over to their booth. “Ok, not what I pictured, but. Makes sense, I guess, you being an equal-opportunities kinda guy.”

Shrugging, Dean smirks. “I don't discriminate either way.”

“Yeah, me neither,” she grins. “Now, where is he?”

“Right in front of you,” Dean eventually reveals.

“Oh, Feathers here?” Pamela exclaims, sounding like she doesn't quite believe it yet.

“Jep, _Feathers_ there.” Dean winks at Cas, locks his foot around Cas' once more.

Pamela takes a moment to collect herself. Then she slowly starts to grin. “Well, still, congratulations! And, you know. Offer still stands,” she winks at Cas, who bristles.

Thinking of someone else, in their bed, someone occupying Cas when he is right there, having to watch-- makes a hot streak of jealousy slash right through his poor, currently very gay heart.

Yeah, so Dean might be an equal-opportunities kind of guy, but he doesn't share what's his.

“Thanks, but uh,” Dean looks over to Cas, who downs his beer while staring straight ahead, clearly flustered, clearly and very adorably out of his depth. He can't help but huff out a nervous laugh. “We're good. No thanks.”

Pamela shrugs, and that's it. They go on to chat about their past and hunting and heaven for a while longer. It's easy, with her. She's smart and funny and Dean might have taken her up on that offer, one day, no matter if she'd eaten him alive or not, whatever Sam claimed.

Thing is, he jokes and laughs with her, but he looks at Cas, meets his eyes, and toes tap his shin under the table and his mind is filled with all the stuff they have yet to do. In and out of the bedroom. He wants to have it all, with Cas. The sex, the wedding, the road trip, everything. To think that one day, he'd get that greedy about someone, it's kind of funny in and of itself.

Eventually, Pamela bids them good night and tells them to have fun on her behalf. Dean also never thought he'd see Cas blush, but his reaction is as close to a blush as Dean will probably ever see on him.

“Don't mind her, she's just teasing,” Dean smiles, patting Cas' hand on the table.

“I know,” Cas says as he turns his hand around, palm up, fingers playing with Dean's. “I'm just amazed, sometimes, how casual humans treat physical intimacy and sex.”

Dean swallows. The conversation he had with Charlie a few days ago promptly comes to mind. “Hey, Cas, um. The other night,” he asks after a long while, has no idea how to just slap that on the table. Remembers Cas sitting at the bar across an amused Ash, so he deflects. “Did Ash say anything to you or what gives?”

Cas lifts his head. “He just told me he wasn't that surprised about us, seeing as he already thought you weren't straight. Apparently you hit on him, when you were younger.”

Dean bristles. “What?” He files through memories from a decade ago, before the Roadhouse burned down. Yes, once he was more comfortable with Ellen and got around to talking to Ash more often, he had been here a few times. He'd gotten drunk with Ash once, while Sam was at Bobby's, and who knows what had happened that night. He doesn't remember much. They fell asleep on the sofa – well, Dean fell asleep on the sofa, he found Ash on the pool table later – and now that he's thinking about it, Dean remembers complimenting his hair the very first time they met.

So what, he dug the look, he honestly did. It was way back when he still dressed like his Dad, just to be like him. When the roadie look was what he found inspiring, too. He simply was young and easy to impress.

So what, Ash was a skilled MIT dropout who did incredible things on a laptop with a sense of humble implicitness. Kind of like a certain someone he knows, Dean thinks, amused. Obviously, minus the laptop.

Ok, he might not have been completely straight.

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him. “Okay, let's not get into this,” Dean huffs. “But, hold up, what did you say to that?”

“Nothing,” Cas shrugs. “What should I have said?”

It's Dean's turn to shrug. “Yeah, I dunno. You don't need to defend my virtue, there's nothing to defend,” he thinks about Charlie and Jo and goes for it, now that the thought had stuck and wouldn't stop bothering him. _Communication is key,_ he reminds himself. “Cas, I, uh. The other night. I might've told Charlie that we had something going on.”

“Yes? Isn't that what everyone is thinking?”

“Yeah, but, she asked if we'd slept together--”

“We share a bed every night,” Cas scowls, confused.

“Sex, Cas, orgasms, that kind of stuff,” Dean spells it out, looking directly at him. He leans on his elbow, fingers locking with Cas'. “And I know we had talked boundaries and I know I overstepped. I didn't go into detail, just told her, we, uh, you know. Just facts.”

Cas frowns. “What did you tell her?”

“That there were situations that led to orgasms,” Dean mumbles. It sounds stupid now that he's saying it.

Cas' frown dissipates. “Isn't it assumed that we do those things if we're in a relationship? Why did she even want to know, then?”

“Because she knew I've been struggling, and Jo is struggling with her and I felt like... she needed reassurance. But I didn't think of you when I. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Cas waves him off. “Thank you for telling me, I don't mind.”

“You don't?” Dean looks up in surprise.

“Why would I?”

“Dude, it's kind of personal. I wouldn't want you to tell others about our sex life.”

“Dean, it's okay.”

Dean breathes. “Okay, then.”

Cas shoots him an intense, investigating gaze. “I assume you wouldn't talk about this with just anyone, so I trust you.”

“Yeah, I won't again, anyway,” Dean huffs. “That feels totally off, now that I'm thinking about it.”

That's when Sam plops down next to Cas. He looks beat. “I don't think I've done this much socializing in forever,” he groans, head leaned over the edge of the backrest of the booth.

“Suck it up, Sammy,” Dean grins, “It's only the first evening. It will get better, promise.”

“You hang out here a lot?”

Dean shrugs. “When I'm not working here anyway, maybe two nights a week? We wanted to do movie night, today, but then you interrupted.”

“Excuse me for dying on movie night,” Sam snarks, dry as ever. “What were you about to watch?”

“Scott Pilgrim, Charlie was gonna make me watch it,” Dean sips his beer.

“Wouldn't be a movie for me, anyway,” Sam shrugs it off.

And that's okay, too.

Dean feels like there's a revelation, somewhere right below the surface, for him, but he can't quite put a finger on it yet.

The rest of the night breezes by, until Eileen grabs a definitely-past-tipsy Sam under the shoulders and hauls him home. Until Dean leans across the table with a smirk and grabs Cas' chin and kisses him, and says, “Take me home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang is back together, and this is what should've happened in 15x20 anyway. We all know why it couldn't happen, but here's my take on it. I hope you enjoyed this one and I'll see you next chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean picks up Sam from the bridge, Cas and Eileen wait for them at home, and the rest of the gang welcomes Sam at the Roadhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of those chapters where my characters did not do what I expected them to do. Anyway. Happy New Year everyone, enjoy!

The next morning, Dean wakes up with one less worry on his mind. Cas is still fast asleep, drooling on Dean's shoulder, and just looking at him makes his heart skip a beat. Mind still fuzzy from sleep, Dean tips his head against his angel's.

How he ended up in this perfect version of heaven, he will never know.

Except he _does_ know, exactly, how he ended up here.

It's because _Jack_ rebuilt heaven, because he learned what humans needed in the afterlife, because he lived life with him and Sam and Cas.

Because he knew humans are miserable bastards who rarely got what they deserved or wanted.

But if they never defeated Chuck, Jack would never have been able to rebuild heaven.

And if Cas hadn't sacrificed himself, Dean would never have gotten out of the bunker, that day, and Chuck would've won.

And Cas wouldn't have sacrificed himself if Dean hadn't been there, all those years, if he wouldn't have changed him, if Cas wouldn't have rebelled for him. If Cas wasn't that one angel that came off the line with a crack in his chassis.

Really, it all began and it all ended with that angel in his arms.

That angel whose blue eyes flutter open as he rubs his nose against the crook of Dean's neck. Who sniffles adorably, takes one look at Dean, smiles, unseen but not unnoticed, against Dean's skin – and closes his eyes again with relish.

Jack wouldn't have needed to save Cas. Technically, at least. Cas was his father figure, of course, and that was Dean's hope. But if Jack would've never had that life with Dean and Cas – and Sam – he would never have known what Cas meant to Dean, that his heaven would never have been complete without Cas.

It really all came full circle.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean mutters, kisses Cas' temple.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean hums against the crown of his head, curiosity getting the better of him. “Quick question: How did Jack bust you out of the empty, how did that happen? Were you awake when he got there?”

“At first I wasn't, but then I was,” Cas smiles, traces Dean's ear with a soft pad of his finger. “A voice called my name, woke me up, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't Jack's.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. Could it be that...? “I prayed to you, but I didn't think it would get through to you.”

“Well, I heard every word.”

Dean closes his eyes. Those prayers, they were so raw, so special. Among all the hurt, all the 'this can't be happening' and 'you can't just leave me here', Dean remembers all the ways he tried to tiptoe around the fact that he already knew that he loved Cas.

_I need you. Get your ass back here, I want to tell you how much of a dumbass you are. I want to hug you. I need you. You're family, you're more than that. You and I, we're better together._

And he knows half of that he didn't even consciously put into a prayer, it just spilled out, poured out from his overflowing heart, and there was nothing he could do but prop his head against his hands, put his elbows against his knees, and cry his eyes out. His thoughts spun in useless, fruitless circles, around a trench coat and dark hair and a toothy grin he so rarely got to see, and lost chances.

“Cas, I was... so broken up about not being able to get you back from the Empty. I knew how final that deal was. And I searched the bunker's library for anything that might be able to bust you out. You got out once, you've been there and back again, it couldn't be that hard, right? Chuck wouldn't resurrect you and Jack didn't answer my prayers, of course, because he had already got you back by then, but I didn't know--” Dean breaks off, shakes his head. It was long nights, and a lot of whiskey.

“But you did,” Cas states.

Dean falters. “What?”

“Bring me back. You woke me, with your prayers. I don't know if Jack would've found me if I hadn't been awake.”

“But... how? That last time, only Jack and his powers could wake you,” Dean wonders aloud. “So I guess he could've done it again.”

“Does it matter? _You_ were the one who got through,” Cas shrugs, scowls at the memory. “Nick almost summoned Lucifer. Maybe it does require a certain bond.”

“Yeah, but Nick was only Lucifer's vessel, and he had a spell, not like... you and me.” _Whatever we were, then._

Dean pushes against Cas' shoulder, rolls them over. He kisses Cas' chest, over his heart, and maybe he is a big softie. So what.

“We do share a more profound bond,” Cas repeats his own words with a smug little smile that makes Dean feel all mushy inside. “Which I'm pretty sure is far from what Lucifer and Nick had.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grins, gives up with a sigh. “Whatever, I'll take it. And what happened then? Jack popped up, went 'We've got work to do'?”

“Basically, yes. And put the Empty and everyone else back to sleep.”

Dean hums against Cas' shoulder. “So, what about the other angels? Did he bring back someone else but you? Like, Gabriel? And now I'm trying to think of other angels that were ever on our side and coming up short.”

Cas snorts, and the sound is entirely too human for him, but it makes Dean grin all the same. “Most might have questioned my loyalties at some point, but some stayed on our side nonetheless, even if they pursued their own goals.”

Dean thinks about Cas defying orders, Cas rebelling, Cas breaking through mind-control, Cas flipping the table on all of heaven's plans – for, well, him. And Sam, and Jack, and the whole world. But mostly him. Each and every time.

It's scary, this profound bond of theirs.

“Well, knowing where your loyalties lie,” he begins, “I get why we got on their bad sides sooner rather than later,” and grins a bit self-deprecatingly. 

Cas grins back. He doesn't break eye contact with Dean when he says, earnest and with his heart on his tongue, words chosen carefully, “I don't regret any of it. I never thought I could have this, with you, and if this is the path that leads us to this, I'd do it all the same, again.”

With a huff and – there's no denying this – tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, Dean kisses him. Seems like it's one of those days.

It's nothing like the kisses they've shared so far.

Dean leans over him, eyes open until the very last millisecond, lips hovering over Cas', and as he puts their lips together, it's with a sensual deliberation that makes his heart stutter. He needs to feel this, and he needs Cas to feel this. It's slow, so slow it's almost painful, because every cell of Dean's body screams for him to kiss Cas hard and fast until they're falling into each other. Closes his lips over Cas' bottom lip, nips, lets go, repeat. He's hyper-aware of every single move, every single muscle tightening, every square inch that his fingers trace along Cas' cheek and down his neck.

This one is a love declaration all on its own.

But when they pull apart after what could've been hours but probably was barely a few minutes, all Dean can say is a breathless, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Cas tilts his head. “You initiated that kiss.”

“No, I meant,” and Dean stumbles over his own words, because well, emotional stuff. “For choosing me. Us. Every time.”

“Of course,” Cas states, so nonchalantly, so unquestioningly, so sure of himself.

Dean shakes his head, huffs with disbelief.

“What?” Cas asks, again, but amused.

Dean lets his eyes wander, from Cas' gloriously naked chest up to his eyes. He knows he can't say 'I still can't believe how I deserve this. Deserve you.' because Jack forbid, if he pulls that again, Cas will rip him a new one, like he almost did the first time.

This is heaven. This is where he gets what he  _actually_ deserves. And apparently, he deserves to be happy, and to be happy with Cas.

It's a strange thought.

It's a thought he may need to get used to.

“I still can't believe that I deserve you, yet here we are,” is what he says. “And before you tear into me, I know, okay? I know I do.”

“You better,” Cas grumbles. It's adorable.

Dean laughs, light and airy, under his breath. “I swear, I do. Just need to get used to that thought.”

“I know.”

“And, you know. You fought and died and bled for this, for us, your whole time on earth and you deserve happiness, too,” Dean states, cupping Cas' cheek, propping himself up on his elbow to look at him. “I'm glad you're allowing yourself that.”

And this time, it's Cas who rolls them to get Dean under him, and kisses him the way Dean kissed him just a minute ago. Dean wants to melt into the mattress, and his heart wants to jump out of his chest. All he can do is press his hand to the small of Cas' back, run his other hand over broad shoulders, over thick muscles, along strong arms – and take that kiss, accept that love declaration.

Their lips stick together when they break apart for air, and Dean can't look at Cas, not right now. Too close, too much potential of getting lost in these feelings. So he listens to his body instead, wallows in the touch of skin on skin, touches so tender they make his heart flutter, breath tickling his beard.

He makes himself aware of every part of Cas above him, from his hairy legs, one between Dean's knees, up to sharp hipbones and a toned stomach and chest, lining up with his own body from neck to toe.

And since they have a silent agreement to sleep naked, Dean also feels Cas' dick lining up with his own.

The next time Cas leans down, Dean lifts his head, meets him half-way, pulls him under by his neck. He feels his own cock filling out, just from kissing. And just because he can, Dean pushes up, pushes his hips against Cas, testing the waters.

A suppressed sigh, into Dean's mouth.

Dean follows it with his tongue, teases Cas' mouth open only to suck his bottom lip between his.

And Cas gets some leverage by pressing an elbow down onto the mattress and ruts against him.

Dean pushes up, rolling his hips.

Cas rides his thigh, meets him halfway the way Dean met his kiss just moments earlier.

It's such an intense, slow series of moves, only meant to get each other hard. Dean takes his time to kiss Cas, in-between, to stall, to savor.

Turns out, without having to bother with all the necessities humans usually need to deal with in the morning, they each seem to be very much of a morning person. Open-mouthed kisses turn more insistent and they've done this, this isn't so hard any more, is it? Pun not intended.

Because he feels Cas' hard cock frot against his and he's hard as a rock, too. The friction is delicious and it works for him, but now that he tasted blood, he wants more.

More touching. More control.

Dean looks up at Cas, pulls his own bottom lip between his teeth and lets it pop out again. Very deliberately runs his hand over Cas' hip down to between their bodies. Cas lifts up, gives Dean enough room to slip his hand between them, leans on one elbow.

Cas' skin is so hot, so vibrant, so sensitive, and he hisses when Dean closes his fingers around his cock. The angle is good, Dean can work with that, so he strokes him a few times, just to see Cas' head fall down onto his chest, shoulders bowing.

But then, Cas switches arms, leans to the other side, trapping Dean's hand between them - so he can reach down, too.

When Cas cups his cock return, Dean stops for a moment, a groan wringing itself from his throat.

Ok, so they're jerking each other off, cool. Under the cover, proper. With Cas thrusting into his hand, meeting his strokes, with Dean trying to match his speed. At first, it's a bit weird, finding their rhythm, finding the exact angle, and a minute or two into it, they stop, laughing and grinning at each other while they rearrange some limbs.

Cas does something so simple, then, before he slots their bodies back together.

He grabs Dean's hand, between them, and together, they wrap their hands around their joined dicks. Dean can only stare at him, mouth open, breathing hard, and then they resume their rhythm. And between them, he feels Cas' length along his, he wallows in the friction between them, the feeling of smooth skin, rough palms around them, just the right amount of pressure, and then there's the factor that he can always thrust up into their grip.

With a groan so dirty it almost makes Dean blush, he drops his head back into the pillows.

Cas' lips look so soft, so plush. Dean can't stop staring, and because he can, he pulls Cas down to kiss him, almost throwing him off balance. It only gets them impossibly closer, gets them even more delicious friction of skin against skin, and Dean feels himself topple comically slowly yet surprisingly fast towards the edge.

He wants to stop, he wants to drag this out, it's oh so good. Cas' fragrance in his nose, Cas' hands on him, and Dean can only hold on for the ride. Meet the twitch of his hips as he notices Cas' breathing becoming shallow.

“Cas,” he breathes, right into his ear, and it sounds broken but just as enamored as he feels.

“You'll have to show me,” Cas answers, and Dean blinks, not having expected full sentences at this point.

“Show you what?”

“How to blow you, what you like.”

Dean's brain nearly implodes. Of course. He had never thought of it like that, but of course Cas-- “You've never...?”

“No,” Cas mutters. “Never received oral, either.”

Oh, the implication. The meaning. The resolve.

It hits Dean all at once, and at least he can look at Cas now without coming his brains out right this second. For now. “You know I never blew a guy, ever.”

“I'm aware.”

“I can only show you what I got, so far. What I enjoy.”

“My point exactly.”

At least, Dean thinks, he won't have to talk since his mouth will be occupied otherwise.

And he'd have Cas under him, and Dean will be his first and there's his possessive streak again. There's that kick about being in charge, showing Cas how good it can feel. Hopefully.

Dean never thought the thought of having a dick in his mouth would ever turn him on, but said dick is very unintimidating, cradled in their joined hands right now, and the whole thing seems manageable.

That's a next step he can look forward to.

And one he can have fun with.

“It feels incredible, the first time you got a wet, hot mouth around you,” he whispers into Cas' ear, a grin on his lips, his voice rough, “The first time that airtight pressure is around the tip of your dick. There's so much you can do, with your mouth, with your hand, at the same time. Run your tongue along the slit, jerk the length while doing that. Play with your balls.”

Dean acutely remembers that one girl that had given him a cheeky wink before pulling off of his dick, holding his eyes all through sucking two of her fingers into her mouth before she leaned down, got his knee over her shoulder and his ass closer to the edge of the sofa, and leaned behind his balls to lick him open, with a little help from her index finger.

They never got to the prostate massage she had in mind because frankly, Dean had blown his load in two seconds flat once her finger had breached his hole.

He clears his throat.

Above him, Cas presses in close to his neck. “Dean,” he groans, needy, right at the edge.

Dean's heart hammers away in his chest. “And the best part is when you sink all the way down, into my mouth, up to the base, and it feels like fucking me already.”

Cas locks lips with Dean, humming against his lips and Dean can feel it. The jerk of his dick, the ripple in his smooth moves, the sharp intake of breath.

And he's so close, himself, and he wants to come with Cas, and if he could have – yes, a little more pressure, right under the head, a few strokes – Cas indulges him, Dean knows. At this point, Cas can barely hold on, can barely restrain himself.

“Want to come with me?” Dean asks, and that's it, that's it, just a few more--

“Want to feel you against me when I come,” Cas admits, voice so, so deep, it sends shivers through Dean.

“Then come,” Dean says.

Cas' eyes go wide. “And you?”

“Cas,” Dean groans, quickens their strokes yet again. “Right there with you, don't worry,” he grins.

He feels the familiar growing need, feels his balls tightening against his leg, the head of his cock becoming almost oversensitive, and with one more stroke, just one, Cas could.

And Cas does. Gives him one, two well-timed strokes and stares at him with glassy eyes as Dean curls his arm around his neck, holding him down, holding him as close as physically possible.

Dean doesn't suppress his needy moan when he falls over the edge, fast and messy, and he watches in awe as Cas' eyes close in slow-motion, as he lets his lips drop open around a sound so filthy, something guttural from the depth of his chest that makes Dean think,  _I did that._

Shit, he's proud to have caused that.

“Cas?” he asks after a long moment of cradling Cas in his arms, their semen mixing between them, becoming sticky, and droplets tickling where they're running to where they shouldn't, down his hips, into the sheets. They are a mess. “You good?” he asks when his breathing has somewhat normalized.

“Mmmh. Stuck on that image of you teaching me oral sex,” Cas admits with his eyes closed, making Dean laugh. 

“We'll need practice, but we have to start somewhere, right? It'll be fun.”

Cas kisses him.

Dean grins into the kiss.

***  
  
Dean is still undressed when he notices that he hasn't checked his phone before his quick – and, sadly, solo – shower.

As usual, Cas doesn't see much use in showering when he doesn't need to, so he's probably waiting for Dean in the kitchen.

When Dean does check his phone, forgotten on the bedside table, he sees two unanswered texts, both from Sam.

_Dude, breakfast/brunch at the diner?_

_Just you and me, for old times sake._

Dean can already hear something sizzling in a pan, and it smells awesome as he walks across the hall. He winces.

And to make things worse, he discovers Cas in his underwear – not his, but  _Dean's_ – and one of his flannels, the red and black one from yesterday, and it's hanging loosely off his shoulders, unbuttoned, with no undershirt.

Since it's Dean's underwear it's boxer briefs, not the wide boxers Jimmy seemed to come with. The shirt falls just about to Cas' hips, accentuates the black boxer briefs hugging his ass just right, and Dean stops short in his tracks.

_Oh._

_Fuck._

So he's going to have to tell Cas that he--

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. That's when Cas turns around to look at him over his shoulder as he licks something off his thumb.

Dean's brain isn't firing on all cylinders, or on all at once, and it takes him a moment before he can make himself put one foot in front of the other.

Without further ado, he slides one hand under Cas' shirt, the other around his hip and onto his ass, and pulls him into a searing kiss. All his buttons, right there. Cas wearing his clothes, half naked, highlighting his ass, accentuated by fitting underwear, naked chest, and those plush lips suggesting another range of thoughts that are not safe for work. Or breakfast.

As if they hadn't just exchanged some friendly frottage with a handjob on the side, Dean is already hard again and that before he even got dressed after their last romp. _Bless heaven's refractory periods._

Cas looks floored when Dean pulls away.

“Fuck's sake, Cas,” Dean wrings out of his constricting lungs.

And then he notices the beard.

They haven't discussed shaving yet and Dean may have skipped it one or two days on occasion.

Cas always looked like the kind of man that already had stubble by 5 o'clock in the afternoon, and it seems like he did not bother to fix his beard this morning.

Dark shadows are contouring his cheekbones and it's scruffy and – Dean really has no need to  _not_ admit this, so – hot.

As much as he made fun of Sam's beard after the whole Michael incident, this, this, no, does not compare, does not compare.

And of course Cas tilts his head to the side and squints at him, confused and cute. His eyes do that thing where they bore into his and leave him completely see-through and vulnerable. He doesn't need to ask what Dean means because Dean can hear it, loud and clear.

He huffs out a laugh. What does one say in a situation like this? He's usually so suave with things like this. Cas has him out of his depth, here. As Dean licks his lips, stalling for time, he also makes himself remember that he knows that pure and unfiltered honesty will always be what Cas appreciates most.

“I dunno where to start,” he starts to smile, leans in to kiss Cas' cheek, lips grazing stubble as he speaks. “Love the stubble, please don't shave.” He runs his hands down Cas' chest, over perky nipples and lapels of an open shirt, “My shirt, all mine,” to the seam of his own boxer briefs. “And this puts the final nail into my coffin. You're killing me here.”

“I only grabbed something that was already lying around,” Cas shrugs. “And you did tell me that the boxers were too wide, so I thought--”

“Yeah, perfect choice, not complaining, it's just--” Dean fixes him with a grin. “Fuck, Cas. That's so hot.”

“I'm glad you like it,” Cas smiles and lets Dean's hands roam all over his torso and ass and legs while he turns around to flip whatever's in the pan.

Dean fuses himself to Cas' back, lets him feel his erection against his backside. “What are you cookin'?”

“' _Kaiserschmarrn_ ',” Cas says.

Dean laughs, tips their hips from side to side, falling into a rhythm to the song playing on the radio. “Gesundheit?”

“It's Austrian. A simple meal, just sweet dough fried in a pan in little bite-sized bits. It's regarded as a classic meal for Fridays, for lunch or dinner or as a dessert. Very versatile, really. I made it with raisins, there will be powdered sugar on top, and it's usually combined with applesauce.”

Dean hums. Cas could read the phone book to him and it'd turn him on, at this point.

Are they doing anything about this situation he has going on here? Or shouldn't he pursue that? Maybe Cas wants to have breakfast first.

And shit, he hasn't answered Sam's text yet.

“Sam asked me to head out for breakfast,” Dean blurts out.

“Right now?” Cas asks over his shoulder, kisses Dean's jaw.

Dean nods. “Still thinking what I should do about that.”

Cas smiles. “Well, it's a good thing that time moves differently, right? Have breakfast with me, then we'll take care of  _this_ ,” he pushes his ass against Dean's hard-on, and _thank fuck,_ apparently they'll do something about this, “And then you can still have brunch with Sam and won't be late.”

“Second breakfast,” Dean realizes the obvious, scales falling from his eyes. _“Yes.”_ And he pumps his fist.

The _Kaiserschmarrn_ tastes wonderful and Dean is glad he didn't skip it. He doesn't bother getting dressed. He texts Sam that brunch is a thing that's going to happen in about an hour or two, and Sam asks for Dean to pick him up.

Dean doesn't answer that one because Cas has him sitting on the kitchen counter, mouthing against his chest, his neck, kissing him within an inch of his life, hand on his dick that just wouldn't change its mind through breakfast, until Dean spills all over his lap and stomach.

He's still recovering when Cas gets that glint in his eye that means some form of stupid plan is currently in motion, and leans down to lick at Dean's navel, rolling some of his come over his tongue.

Dean groans, pulls him up with both hands on his cheeks, framing his beautifully sculpted face – so what if orgasm makes Dean poetic, it's just in his mind – and kisses him, with lots of tongue, tasting himself there. Since he's already succumbed to the fact that he will have to shower again anyway, he slides down the counter, kneels on the floor between Cas' feet.

He could, if he wanted.

Suck Cas, right here.

That glorious bulge in those black boxer briefs is tempting.

All he'd need to do is open his mouth.

And why is it always the kitchen, with them.

For today, he's still too intimidated of the whole thought, Dean decides.

So he collects some of his come with his hand, pushes Cas' underwear down under his balls, and jerks him off right there, Cas standing over him, both hands against the counter, Dean's back against the kitchen cabinet.

And Dean grins when he gets up afterwards, knees a little stiff and a lot wobbly, but Cas' spunk dripping off his nose and chin and lips. This time, it's Cas leaning in for a kiss that should be too filthy to feel so sweet.

***  
  
Dean swears his mind is mostly out of the gutter by the time he picks his brother up.

Two orgasms before 10 a. m. will do that to you.

He also made it to the part where he's wearing clothes now and even Cas got around to wearing something that wasn't Dean's.

Oh, that twinge in his gut is delicious.

Dean wants to bite the steering wheel, he's so keyed up, so looking forward to what's waiting for him when he gets home.

They haven't even used the couch yet, _fuck._

Shifting Baby into park is muscle memory, and the following squeak of the door reminds Dean that he should probably get some lube in there.

Heh, lube.

No, he will not think about sex with Cas once Sam--

“Hey,” Sam says, and Dean is a horrible big brother.

Part of him just wants to go home where Cas is probably working in the yard, bent over in his tight work pants without Dean to witness it.

Part of him is excited to see Sam again, as it should, so he finally gives himself a nudge.

“Hey, you settle in okay?” he grins at Sam before he pulls off the curb. “Slept well?”

“Yeah, we, uh,” Sam clears his throat and oh god, of course they would've had sex all night, too.

Dean is so not going to talk about this with Sam right now. Not now, not ever. “Right,” he huffs.

There's this town, right in their neighborhood, that is some hybrid of Lebanon and Sioux Falls, somehow, and Dean swears he knows that layout and those streets like his back pocket. When they reach the local diner, Dean can't remember even looking for it, he just drove on autopilot.

They get a booth by the window and two cups of coffee.

“So, what do vegans eat for breakfast?” Dean squints. “Except scrambled tofu. Which, remind Eileen to show me how to do that sometime.”

A smile plays around Sam's lips. “She really has a knack for that. But yeah. Oatmeal, avocado on toast, veggie bacon, tofu sausages. Pancakes. Sweet croissants with jam. Oh, PB&J is usually vegan.”

The waitress reaches their table and without a blink, Dean says, “Bacon and egg breakfast sandwich with extra cheese, sausages on the side.” And grins like a little shit because he can.

Sam pointedly ignores him, orders the vegan pancakes and a fruit salad. When the waitress is gone, he holds out all of three seconds before he snarks, “Dean, always with the healthy life choices.”

“What? Bacon has, like, vitamins or something. Oh hey, oil! That's important for, you know, omega fatty acids or some shit.”

Sam snorts. “Right.”

Dean hogs the ketchup bottle in advance. “And ketchup basically counts as a vegetable side dish.”

Sam doesn't comment on that, but when their food arrives, he glances at Dean's plate.

And that looks like one awesome plate of perfectly greasy, yummy food. Saliva is pooling in Dean's mouth just looking at it. “That's what I'm talking about!” he exclaims. “Huh, Sam?” he wiggles his eyebrows.

Sam is decidedly unimpressed as Dean lathers his sausages with ketchup and puts one into his mouth without even cutting it. Just shoves the whole thing in and looks like the happy chipmunk he is.

“Nothing vegan about this,” Dean says triumphantly once he has swallowed enough of his food to be able to talk again.

“Your ketchup is vegan,” Sam throws back, not even looking up.

Dean harrumphs, takes the bottle, and, sure enough, there's that vegan label on the back side. “Eh, doesn't count. Still the meatman!”

That, on the other hand, has Sam almost spitting out his coffee. “I hear you're very much into the meat these days. Certain... let's say, heavenly meat.”

Dean doesn't get the teasing undertone. “Yeah? At least no animals dying for this food.”

“Not my point,” Sam blinks rapidly, shakes his head, then grins. “And meatman still doesn't mean what you think it means. Although it does, if you mean the carnal side of, you know, putting sausages into your mouth.”

Sam's words still don't connect in his head.

In the timeless gesture of I-don't-understand-and-I-don't-care-dude, Dean shrugs and shakes his head at the same time.

And there's a grade-A bitchface staring right at him.

Ok, so, Dean  _has_ missed Sam.

“Eat your fruit salad, princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for the lovely comments, I'm floored! Your feedback means the world to me. I'm still making this up as I go so, if you have any questions or if you want to point something out, constructive criticism is always welcome.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: frottage in the bed, handjobs in the kitchen, breakfast with Sam and the meatman in the local diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet some of you go "HOLD UP she's answering comments, the new chapter is about to be posted!" and you're right lol. Enjoy an extra long chapter!

After the initial shit-talking, Sam and Dean settle into a comfortable truce of talking about everything and nothing instead. It's surprisingly easy, even without a case looming over them.

When Sam apparently determined Dean's caffeine intake to be sufficient, he clears his throat. Dean knows him too well to not realize that whatever comes now, it has been irking Sam for the longest time.

“So, Dad met Cas,” he says, carefully.

“Yes, he did,” Dean nods.

Sam fixes him with a curious stare. “How'd that go?”

Dean tells him, personal revelations aside. It's not like said meeting consisted of more than three sentences going back and forth before they left.

“So you two haven't spoken since?” Sam wants to know.

Dean frowns. “Not really. I was on the phone with Mom the other day and she mentioned that he started asking her questions about her time with us. And that he accepts it, or seems like he does. But no, we haven't talked since then.”

“And this Sunday, family lunch with Cas and Eileen?”

“Yes, please,” Dean groans, rolls his eyes and sips his coffee. “If you're there, we won't be the center of attention.”

Sam nods, slow, lips twitching. “Do you think he would... you know, say anything?”

“Mom would rip him a new one,” Dean shakes his head with a chuckle. “Yeah, no. He wouldn't. I don't think he's quite who he was, you know. He's mellowed out some, and Mom did him good. I just really wish it wasn't that big a deal, like, at all.”

Sam's eyes blaze in a way that Dean recognizes. “So I was right, you didn't want it to be a big deal.”

“No, of course not. It's kind of fucked up, don't you think? Nobody thinks it's weird that you brought home a hunter, because she's a woman. Nobody would give me any grief as long as I'd bring a woman, any woman, even if she was an angel. Okay, maybe there'd be a few questions, but nothing major. And Cas is different, after everything he did, after all these years, just because there's an extra dick between the two of us?” Dean realizes he's ranting and promptly shuts up. Covering his mouth with his hand, he avoids Sam's look, but watches him from the corner of his eyes.

Sam smiles, rubs a hand over his lips. “You really love the guy, huh.”

“Yeah, and?” Dean shoots back, even though he knows Sam is the last person he needs to be defensive towards.

“And nothing. That's great. I'm just trying to figure out why you don't want any reaction out of Dad but were so irritated by me not teasing you about Cas.”

Huffing out a self-depreciating laugh, Dean avoids Sam's interrogative gaze. “Because it's you, dumbass. Your opinion-- You know, even for me, Dad died fourteen years and some time in hell ago. I haven't met him in a long time. We both know we did some things he wouldn't be proud of in the meantime. But the thing is, we know why we did them and his opinion doesn't matter. Not like it used to.”

“Yeah, we became our own characters, not just the one son who constantly wanted to be his Dad and the other who only defined himself by rebelling against his Dad.”

“Exactly,” Dean nods. He can see that now, too. “And I _honestly_ don't care any more. I know he's proud of us, he told us, and I believe that he was sincere, but it long since stopped to matter. It's good to know, it's some validation after all these years, but why would I care about his opinion on who sleeps in my bed?”

“And I'm proud of you for saying that,” Sam grins.

“Ah, shut it,” Dean huffs, staring out the window.

“What, I'm supposed to say 'Fuck what Dad says,' right?” 

Dean scowls. “Yeah.”

“And I'm also supposed to be on your side.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what's the issue here?”

“There is none,” Dean claims.

Sam hesitates. “We're good, then?”

“We never were _not_ good,” Dean blinks, can't name what makes him so confused. 

Sam inhales deeply, looks Dean in the eye and says, “No, I said something. Or you expected something.”

Dean gives in, exasperated. “Yeah, lay it on me, House.”

“You realize House wasn't a psychiatrist,” Sam quips, and Dean stares at him, nonplussed. 

“I expected you to take the piss out of me,” Dean throws back. “I mean, how many gay jokes have I made about your hair alone, and that doesn't even include--” he gestures at Sam's whole figure as an entirety, “--the rest.”

“Just because you're as much of an asshole about the vegan thing as I expected you to be,” Sam starts and Dean smiles sweetly, “Doesn't mean the same rules apply to you being gay for Cas. The vegan stuff's a choice. A choice I can stand behind. You didn't ask for any of this, you didn't choose to fall in love with an angel, in a male vessel.”

“Well, d'uh, things would've been way easier if Cas was riding some hot chick,” Dean huffs. He tries and fails to picture a woman with Cas' mannerisms, and she still winds up with blue eyes and dark hair and a trench coat that hides all the good parts. Yeah, still would be right up Dean's alley.

Sam snorts. “So the hot chick could ride--” he breaks off, noticeably holding back.

Rolling his eyes, Dean answers, “Yeah, that sounded better in my head. You know what I mean.”

“Anyway, he doesn't.”

“Yeah, and honestly? Once you see the appeal, he's not so bad, either,” Dean grins.

Sam frowns. “I don't need details, you know. I'm just saying, Dean. It's who you are. And it doesn't deserve to be made fun of, no matter how many times I wanted to smack your heads together because you're incredibly frustrating assholes who have no idea how to talk about stuff.”

_Communication is key._ Dean smiles into his cup of coffee. “We're working on that.” 

“Good. And I know, okay, how many angels and demons and monsters made fun of you. I know why you were so defensive about it. Hell, how often have they used me against you and the other way around. We didn't need yet another pressure point, though that was obsolete, I guess, at some point.”

“It was, because literally everybody knew,” Dean sighs. “Well, except us.”

“Did you have any idea?”

Dean huffs. “Not until he told me he loved me, right before the Empty took him.”

Sam stares. Sips his coffee, stares a hole into the bottom of the cup, before his eyes dart side-to-side, connecting dots. “Oh. Dean. Wow, that explains... a lot. Why didn't you tell me?”

And at this point, Dean is so glad that he had talked about this with Cas, in detail, before. About all the feelings, before, during, and after that confession that pulled the rug out under him. “At the time, it was all too much. And I know that you'd only ask me if that feeling was mutual and I don't know if I could've been honest about it back then.”

A curious glance. “Was it? Mutual?”

Dean nods, his head heavy. “Of course. And that was, in more ways than one, rock bottom.”

“I know,” Sam muses. “I've seen how you are without him before.”

They pause for a long minute, each of them lost in thought. “How were you, without me?” Dean inquires.

“I was, well, coping. Eileen found me, shortly after your funeral. She was so mad at me for taking her car,” he hides his grin behind his propped-up hand, “She still holds it over my head, even years later. It's become kind of a running joke. But anyway. I needed to find myself, my own life. It was touch and go for a while, there, but I don't know. I got there, we got there. And one day I'd laugh again, thinking about you, and of course I missed you, but I've made peace. I always had faith we'd see each other again.”

Dean says, surprising himself, “This irrational need to throw ourselves into the fire for each other, it was unhealthy anyway.”

“It needed to stop. Not because of some natural order or some shit, but because it only got worse and worse.”

They study each other for a while. “I've been okay without you,” Dean says. “But don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here, now. Hella glad.”

“Of course you've been okay, it's heaven,” Sam replies with a wink.

“At least you got your apple-pie life,” Dean ponders aloud. “I never thought I could live a normal life as long as there were monsters out there. I couldn't know and not do anything about it. I would've pulled you back in until it would've gotten ugly, and you didn't deserve that. I see that now. And here, I'm fine. No more monsters, no more hunts. I can be whoever I want to be. I don't need to be a hunter. And I can date a friggin' angel of the lord.”

Something happens, inside Dean's ribcage. Something new and big and frightening. Something making his hands shake while also putting a grin on his face that goes from ear to ear.

Sam just smiles this big, enigmatic smile at him.

Sam is proud.

And damnit, but Dean is proud, too. Maybe he gets it now, what Charlie meant. Or starts to get it.

This is part of who he is. Biromantic, bisexual, gay for Cas, swinging both ways, whatever. Yes, he hit on Ash, so it's not a thing that Cas brought out in him. Yeah, guys had always drawn his eyes, so? There was always the socially accepted way, going after girls. Why take the rocky road when there's also the path of least resistance.

And that's just it, isn't it?

Screw the path of least resistance when the rocky road gets him to Cas.

Because Cas is worth it, has always been worth it.

It's Dean's own blind spot, has always been, that he never noticed.

He can own that like he can own the damn hickey from last weekend.

“What?” Sam asks, intrigued, like he saw something in Dean's expression.

“Nothing, I, um,” Dean clears his throat. “Realized something. I guess.”

“Share with the class?”

Dean avoids his eyes, stares out the window, at his car in the empty parking lot. “I recently talked to Charlie, and she gave me this whole piece about gay pride and I had no concept of it. I guess I have an idea now,” he huffs out a breath, “Hey, can we change the topic or something, man?”

Sam looks at him, perplexed. “Yeah, sorry, I know we stayed a bit too long on those pesky--” he shudders, overly dramatical, “feelings.”

“Fuck you,” Dean throws back, without heat.

“That's what you got Cas for,” Sam snarks.

“I thought you wouldn't make fun of us?” Dean scowls at him, even though he knows Sam only meant it as a joke.

“Yeah. When I wasn't sure of your relationship status yet,” Sam snickers, unapologetically. “Now it's free for all.”

Dean rolls his eyes in a full-body motion. “I'm getting out of here.”

Sam cackles after him before he realizes that Dean is his ride, not that it makes any difference in heaven. “Do you have any idea what I had to suffer through during the decade and then some, before you died? Being the perpetual third wheel?”

“No, _Cas_ was the third wheel, remember his whole speech about extra stability and stuff?” Dean asks back as he opens the driver side door of the Impala.

Sam leans his forearms on the roof and nods. “Yeah, and remember Benjamin? Who was sarcastic, but also _thoughtful,_ according to Cas, and you almost drove us into oncoming traffic because you were busy arguing like an old married couple?”

Dean gets in the car.

Sam does, too.

He has an obnoxious, pleased grin on his face. But Dean doesn't have anything to say in his defense.

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole,” Dean states, and turns the already loud tape of Def Leppard even louder. Of course he sings along, too.

***  
  
To his disappointment, Cas isn't home when he gets there.

Sure, it's sometime in the afternoon – they took a detour, drove around for a bit just because they could, Dean drove by the Roadhouse, their parents' place, and a few others – and it's Cas' usual time for his rounds, but Dean had been looking forward to seeing him once he gets home.

With time to kill and no one to shag around, Dean puts the quick-jacks under Baby and tinkers around with some minor repairs. If he's got an afternoon, he'll get some work in with good music blaring through the garage.

By the time it's late enough, Dean feels accomplished and in dire need of a shower.

Cas shows up when Dean rolls the Impala out of the garage, lands right in the passenger seat, too.

Dean doesn't even blink, throws his arm over the backrest and basically around Cas' shoulders, and backs out of the driveway. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is in order.”

That's when Dean spares a glance at him – once again in his usual attire, trench coat and all. “Man, we gotta talk about your wardrobe. You know, I'm sentimental too, and the tie--” he stops the car, puts her into drive, but doesn't let up on the breaks. Instead, he leans over the front seat, tugs at Cas' tie to pull him over, into a kiss. “-- has its advantages. But.”

“You prefer it when I wear your flannels?”

“We could get some for you, so you have your own,” Dean shrugs, deliberately not thinking about Cas in his shirt, this morning, which – _pink elephant. Don't think of a pink elephant._

He has to adjust his half-hard dick in his pants before he looks over his shoulder and hits the gas pedal.

“I like wearing yours,” Cas ponders. “They smell like you and we seem to be the same size.”

Dean tips his head side-to-side. “Yeah, well. It's better than that dress shirt that's way too big on you. So I don't mind, I guess.”

Cas looks over at him and doesn't look away.

Irritated, Dean glances over. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“I like your shirt,” Cas admits with a shy smile. “It fits really nice around your arms.”

Dean looks at the worn, olive green Henley with the buttons undone, one of his favorite shirts. Ok, so he didn't pick an overshirt today because it gets hot in the Roadhouse when you're behind the bar.

And it is a tad bit too tight and Dean did roll up his sleeves up to his elbows.

Cas' eyes track his forearms.

And maybe, just maybe, Dean has discovered one of Cas' kinks.

He tries not to be smug about it and fails.

***  
  
At the Roadhouse, Dean gets himself an apron, and makes himself useful right away. In the meantime, Cas hangs back in one of the booths, quickly accompanied by Ash and Kevin.

Soon, Dean can't spare them a thought any more because people start to show up and the flow just doesn't stop. Within half an hour, the bar is full, the tables and booths taken, and the darts have been abandoned in favor of groups of people taking up the space, talking in groups.

“Dean!” Jo calls out from the other end of the bar.

Dean is up to his elbows in the dishwasher, re-filling the shelves with clean glasses, but waves over, “What?”

She hollers an order of specific whiskey brands “on the rocks!” – cue Dean rolling his eyes inwardly – and Dean pours them while she still speaks, bustling around collecting empty beers and red bulls cans.

They switch sides of the bar seamlessly, Dean serving the whiskey, Jo taking over the dishwasher.

From time to time, Dean looks over to Cas. Sometimes, their eyes meet over the distance, sometimes they don't, but Cas' posture seems relaxed, no hunch in his shoulders, no tension there either. He doesn't have time to analyze, though, because Jo claps him on the ass in good nature, grins at him. “I know he's pretty, but you could help me with the order for booth three.”

Booth three is the biggest, the one in the corner, that seats eight people, ten if they squeeze in. And the way the place is packed today, there's twelve in there.

Dean grins. “You've taken the order already?”

Jo slaps the list down and Dean scans it briefly.

“Alright, leave the hard stuff to me, you get everything beer and soft drinks?”

Jo nods, slips past him, right as Dean turns around. As to not collide, he grabs Jo's shoulders and guides her away. It's a fluent, instinctive move. They're awesome like that, a well-oiled machine.

Jo heads out with the tablet after they collected everything and Dean swipes the counters down while chatting with one of the patrons at the bar, a hunter named Wilfried.

He doesn't know when it happened, but the next time he checks Cas' table, Sam, Eileen and Jack have joined the rest of the group.

“Hey,” he nudges Jo on her way past him, “Be right back.”

“Sure!”

He fills a glass with tap water and another two with the best whiskey he can find on the shelf and brings them over.

“Hi,” he says, puts the glass of water in front of Jack, the whiskeys in front of Sam and Eileen, and ruffles Sam's and Jack's heads afterwards. Jack takes it with stoic silence and fixes his hair afterwards, Sam bristles and flips Dean off.

Wordlessly, Dean goes to stand beside Cas, tips his hip against the bench as he puts his arm around his shoulders. It's an easy enough gesture.

Cas leans into him, seeking contact.

And Dean never thought it'd feel like this.

Conversation picks up again at the table, Ash and Kevin are into some hypothetical engineering problem, Jack and Sam were probably in the middle of something before Dean interrupted them, and Cas had listened, as he so often did.

But now that Cas is leaning into him, Dean breathes a bit more freely. He's is still so hyperaware of everyone around them, if they're looking, what they might be thinking? But this is his bubble of friends, they know them, they love them, it's as safe a space as it can get.

Not that he's nervous. He's not.

Dean squeezes Cas' shoulder, then steps back to take a look around. “Anyone else need anything before I head back?”

Ash wordlessly shakes his empty can, Kevin asks for a coke and Sam wants a gin and tonic. Dean nods and gets his friends watered.

He's sure they all took note of him and Cas, there, but all he saw was quiet little smiles, averted eyes – not out of shame, but to not intrude on their moment – and yeah, that's what you do, isn't it?

Cas' eyes are on him when he approaches the table with the next round of drinks.

He feels Cas' eyes on his back, again, when he heads back.

Sometime during the night, Charlie appears and the booth is now definitely at more than full capacity.

Booth three empties some time around 2 a.m. and Bobby is the one who hogs it and waves the younger hunters over to him and Rufus. Since the bar is in good hands, Ellen sits down with them, pulls herself an extra chair up.

And at 4 a.m., every patron who is still here is either asleep in their seat or on the pool table, or got zapped home one way or another.

Dean and Jo finish and clean up. Dean puts an arm around her shoulders when she throws the cleaning rag into the sink. “I'd say that's a job well done for the two of us.” And puts two shot glasses in front of her.

“Thanks,” she says, before they toast and throw back the tequila and bite into the lime. “It's good to have you around, Dean. I love my Mom, but it's... tense, sometimes. I'm sure you can imagine.”

Dean hums, nods his head. He's tired, the good kind of exhausted, the point where it's still too good to go home. “I love this, so thanks for having me. And I get it, I wouldn't wanna do it with my Dad.” There's some residual Tequila in the shot glass, and Dean tries to empty it, futilely. “He's going to see Cas again, this Sunday, first time since I told him about us.”

Jo's eyes go wide. “You came out to him?” she asks, baffled. 

Dean winces. “Kinda? I told him that Cas was more than a friend.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. We left pretty soon after.”

Jo studies him with a knowing spark in her eyes. “And you're nervous.”

“I told myself I don't care about his opinion any more. And I don't. Anyway, it's not like the guy's a raging homophobe or anything.”

Jo huffs. “I only met him the few times he passed through, back when I was still little. He was very... he was a loner, didn't play well with others. It was that single-minded goal of his, the demon.” She pauses. “I can imagine him pushing everything else aside for that. Even his sons' feelings.”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever got the job done. I don't remember every little thing he said, there were more hints than the one, probably. But he gave me shit, once, when I flirted my way into a police station, for the evidence.”

Very unimpressed, Jo levels him with a raised eyebrow. “And? You do that all the time, charming fucker that you are.”

“Gee, thanks. But yeah, except that this time, it was a guy. He probably doesn't even remember, but it stuck.”

“I can imagine.”

Without anything more to say, Jo pours them another round of Tequila. “Fuck John Winchester,” she says by way of toasting to Dean.

Dean snorts, thankfully before having licked salt off his lime.

“And now, let's head over to our gang?” Jo suggests, a light shudder going through her as the shot goes down.

A raucous laughing fit draws Dean's eyes to the booth, with Sam and Bobby laughing so hard, Sam has his head thrown back, holding his stomach, Bobby has his head on the table, banging the tabletop with the hand that's not wrapped around his beer bottle. Ellen has a suspiciously proud grin on her lips.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Maybe he'll surprise you, Dean,” Jo adds, quietly. “Heaven does things to people. So no need to be nervous. And anyway, his opinion really doesn't matter.”

Dean nods again.

They grab drinks for themselves and as they head over, it becomes evident that there's not really any space any more at the table. Jo takes it with grace and hops onto Charlie's lap, who kisses her cheek in greeting. “Done for the night, babe?” she asks.

Dean shouldn't watch, for all the lesbian porn he's watched in his day, it just feels wrong when it's his friends, but he can also barely overlook the fact that Jo turns her head and kisses Charlie square on the lips, one, two, three times, and the third one lingers.

This is none of his business. Dean looks for Cas, and as if everyone felt the shift at the table, there's a ripple in heaven and the booth widens. Cas sits at the end of the bench after a short flutter of wings. Taking a seat next to him, Dean tips his knee against Cas' under the table. Cas smiles, a quiet, happy little thing curling his lips, sweet and indulgent. It makes Dean sigh, to see him so comfortable, so at home in this group of people.

And what a cast of characters it is. Beside the hunters and the angel, there's a prophet, there's the god-in-chief or whatever Jack goes by these days, or, well, _nephilim_ , there's not one but two programming geniuses, brothers who saved the world, and a grumpy old man who helped. A lot.

Dean toasts to all of them, and silence only falls once he and Jo have made the rounds and everybody is drinking.

That's his family. Part of it. But his family. The family he found along the way, the family that found him, the family that didn't begin with blood and sure as hell didn't end there.

He shares a short look with Sam who seems to know exactly what he's thinking, because there is a suspicious redness to his eyes, drops gathering in the corners, and he's clearing his throat. Eileen looks up at him and he signs to her that he's fine.

Dean looks at Cas, who signs something towards Eileen, too. And that's why Cas has been so silent, Dean thinks – he wasn't. He probably was signing to Eileen all evening. She must've had a hard time, following everyone talking over each other.

Sam throws in something, hands flying, and everyone else falls into easy conversation, again.

Dean needs to learn ASL. And yes, he could probably pick it up like _that_ , but learning it is way more intriguing at this point.

The fatigue takes over some time later, and Dean feels himself sinking into the soft leather seat, slumping against Cas' side. Neither of the others around them looks so hot, either, in fact – Kevin is fast asleep against Ash' shoulder, and Ash sleeps with his head against Kevin's – but neither of them want to go home yet.

Charlie is just telling the story of that one time Dean was the Queen of Moondoor's handmaiden, and how Dean led the battle against the Shadow Orcs after a successful hunt.

“And you wandered off with a fairy?” Jo asks back, hands slung around Charlie's neck.

“It didn't last, obviously,” Charlie grins.

“Yeah, her loss,” Jo grins, and kisses her again.

Dean is dying of curiosity though. He shoots Charlie a short look, wiggles his eyebrows, shakes his head, questioning what's going on there. Are they...?

Resting her chin on Jo's shoulder, Charlie just grins.

But she looks happy. So maybe they have resolved whatever the issue was.

Jack looks between all of them. He hasn't said much all evening, as far as Dean knows, he's rather taking it all in, like Dean does now. Although he's simply too tired and lazy to throw in quips, he just enjoys the company and Cas' heat against his side, the warmth of his palm in Dean's.

In their time, these people would've never met. And yet, just the way Ash and Kevin are together, throwing all kinds of complicated questions back and forth before goofing off over some memes on Reddit like they did earlier, Dean can tell they're best friends. The way Charlie fits into their circle is amazing. There's Ellen, perpetually smiling when Dean has only ever seen her frown, always something on her mind, always assuming a threat looming somewhere. That Jo is comfortable enough to make out with Charlie at the same table her mom sits at with her stepdad is surely a hint, too.

When conversation starts to lull and one more person has left the realm of the awake – Rufus – they all decide to head home.

***  
  
When Dean wakes up the next morning, Cas isn't in his bed.

Which is, frankly, disappointing.

Dean finds a text on his phone, though.

_Jack and I need to fix a rift in heaven's structure. Be back later._

Dean sighs, showers and ignores his morning wood, texts Sam, and goes over to their place for breakfast.

It's like the good old times, at the bunker, bustling around each other, Dean catching too-hot toast and Sam insisting on veggie bacon.

Eileen shows him how to do the scrambled tofu. It's easier than Dean thought.

Afterwards, Dean says goodbye and heads home, sits down on the porch swing and waits.

He breathes.

He's alone.

That's... weird.

Even on earth, even at the worst of times, he's never been alone.

When Dad went missing, he went to fetch Sam.

When Sam was dead, he went to Lisa.

When Cas was dead, there was always Sam.

Dean inhales fresh forest air, and knows that he'll be here, forever. Without a job, without a purpose. There's only so many issues he can fix on Baby. That he technically doesn't need to fix.

But he does. And what then?

He thinks about Cas. At least one of them has somewhat of a job, of a purpose. He has his bees and their garden to tend to. But what will Dean do?

A tiny voice in his head says, _Well, what do you want to do?_

Going for a drive, fishing. Those obvious choices. Everything else he can think of involves Cas in one way or another.

But what does Cas want?

Now that hunting isn't in his life any more, it's not only the purpose of it, that's missing. Hunting was part of what defined Dean as a person. It was part of what defined his relationship with his brother. Sam and Cas and he, they bonded over cases, over saving each other's lifes, overcoming a pickle when they got into one. Now, that whole point is gone. Sure, they can rehash stories, tell them so they don't forget them.

But they're all happier without it. Dean can feel it, that weight off his shoulders, the way Cas stands taller, the way Sam talks, more carefree than ever.

But now what.

There was always a goal. Always a bigger picture. Azazael, Lillith, Lucifer, Amara, God.

Who is he without hunting?

Dean taps his knee. Summons a beer. Stares at the lake.

His soul might be at peace, his mind is not.

When Cas pops up, the porch swing rocks back and forth with his weight dropping against it. “Heya, Cas,” Dean says warmly, saving his beer from spilling.

“Hello, Dean.”

“All done? What happened?” And because it's what he does, Dean hands Cas a cup of coffee.

“Thank you. Do you want the long or the short version of the story?”

Dean shrugs. “I've got time.”

“So heaven consists of multiple layers, representing time frames and memories of the people who dwell in the respective eras. As you know, this is Kansas, but there's also an infinite number of Kansases, so to speak, where other souls live. Different times, since the Kansas of the 1800s looks different than today's, for example. Now if a soul was inclined to live in another era, they pass through various layers. And sometimes, depending on where they are from and what changes they implement, that turns into a problem of... let's call it, a rift in space and time. It's not dangerous, but it's a constant source of work for us to fix. This morning, Jack and Anael and I, we found a solution, in a way. It took some consideration and planning, but we're happy with the result. Anael called it an 'elevator' of sorts. So traveling souls can create their own era, their own floor.”

“So, less work, less maintenance runs?” Dean asks.

“I'll be here for a lot more of the time.”

That makes Dean smile. “I'm glad.”

For a while, they just sit in silence, before Dean asks, “Hey, um, Cas. Do you ever get bored?”

Cas eyes him wearily. “I will never get bored watching the whole of creation.”

And that's such an angel thing to say, it makes Dean chuckle. “What do you do, then? Just sit around?”

“I watched the sun rise on Mount Everest today.”

“Worth it?”

“Very.”

“Can I come with you, next time?” Dean makes himself ask. He feels needy, greedy, not wanting Cas to do anything without him, and guilt rears its ugly head.

“Sure,” Cas nods slowly, and turns to look at him. “I'm sensing some form of discomfort, what's bothering you?”

Dean huffs. “I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dean meets Cas' eyes. Of course he wouldn't get anything by Cas. “I was wondering, earlier. What to do. I know, I can do whatever I want. But there's not much that... you know. I only got so much to do on the Impala. And I love when it is finished.”

“There will always be something to fix if you want it to,” Cas reminds him. “But I don't think I get what your issue is, here.”

“People, Cas. All the time I've spent here, I've depended on other people to keep me entertained. Isn't that out of the frying pan and into the fire? Isn't that, I dunno, unhealthy? Like Sam and me, not able to live without each other?”

For an excruciatingly long moment, Cas studies him. In the end, he sighs and looks out, over the lake. “Don't mistake friendship for co-dependency.”

Dean blinks. “I was just worried because I'm... I guess I'm not someone who does puzzles or plays games on their own all day.”

“You're an extroverted person, Dean,” Cas starts to explain. “You thrive on other people's company, you depend on social interactions to refill your batteries. Of course you'd be bored if you're alone.”

Dean feels the anvil on his chest lift, giving him space to breathe. “So you're saying it's healthy to constantly want to hang out with other people? Wouldn't they feel, I don't know, bugged after a while?”

“You underestimate the quality of your company, Dean,” Cas smiles, takes his hand.

“So it's alright if I'm very, very happy that you'll be around more? I feel... I don't know. I've never felt like this, even when we were still on earth, and you were gone for weeks at a time.”

“See, I'm-- what did you call me, your partner. Your boyfriend, your companion. I'm the person you chose to share your heaven with.”

Dean ducks his head, feels heat crawl up his cheeks. That hit home, in all the best ways. “Yeah, of course.”

Cas tilts his head with a lopsided, indulging smile. “You do realize this only works because _you_ are also the person I chose to share _my_ heaven with.”

Dean's spinning thoughts come to a screeching halt. He stares at Cas, at the lake, at the trees around their house, and at Cas again. “Makes sense, I guess,” he says with a flutter of his heart and leans over to kiss him. It might be obvious, but seems like he sometimes needs people to state the obvious so he gets it. “I just feel like I've only been dragging you around all the time. I want to do things you like to do for fun, too.”

“We can do that,” Cas smiles. “And don't ever think you're bugging me, Dean.”

“Nah, I think I'm bugging my friends. With you, I feel like I'm hogging you.”

“I like being hogged by you,” Cas has that indulgent expression again, the one that makes Dean feel all fuzzy inside. “That's fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably guess, we're rapidly approaching the finale of this fic, but don't worry, at least three chapters left. I haven't planned it out yet. But I promise you three chapters, at least. Maybe an epilogue. But who am I kidding, this fic is an epilogue in and of itself, that's the whole point of me writing this.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: deep conversations with Sam, the gang hanging out at the Roadhouse, Cas fixing a major heaven problem with Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I need to update my tags, oh lord. Have fun with this one, my friends.

“I want to do something you'd like to do,” Dean starts, all good intentions and lessons learned.

Cas hides his amusement, unsuccessfully. “I just want to spend time with you, I haven't seen you all day.”

“Okay,” Dean says, tips the porch swing into a soft rocking motion with the toe of his boot.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” Cas suggests after a minute.

And yes, Dean does, but he's eighty percent sure Cas only suggested it for his sake. “Do _you_ want to?” he replies.

Cas shrugs. “I'm more inclined towards the hanging out with you aspect of it than the movie itself, but I also know your taste in movies. You will pick something I can enjoy, too.”

Dean chuckles at the realization that Cas knows him too well, indeed.

And, well, they do have time to kill until he has to be at the Roadhouse.

Plus, it's not like he needs an excuse for wanting to watch movies with his partner. Boyfriend. Companion? He settles for partner with a nod to himself. Boyfriend sounds like they're fourteen and dating instead of forty-two - or, millennia-old - with having spent the past twelve years joined at the hip.

And yet, watching a movie, popcorn on his lap, Dean feels all of fourteen and on a date with the simple hope to maybe get to second base. He rests his arm on the backrest of the sofa, right above Cas' shoulders, too.

But it doesn't take long – and since Dean doesn't remember much from the prologue, it wasn't more than, what, five minutes? - he urged Cas to lose the trench coat and the suit. “C'mon, that can't be comfortable. Relax a little.”

And he knows he's right, it can't be.

Although, without the coat and without his suit jacket, Cas sits on the sofa beside him in an impeccable white shirt, tucked into his suit pants, blue tie half-undone as ever.

He looks, for lack of better wording, delectable.

Sure, Dean admits to having a thing for uniforms. Guys in uniforms, especially, and a suit can be quite the uniform, too. Jimmy, as Dean knows, was just selling ad space, wore cheap suits and cheap ties and neither was tailored to him. And there was a time when he and Sam weren't much better. But as age wore on them, they didn't need to pretend to come from wildlife services any more, they didn't need to crawl into a morgue by smashing the window at 2 a.m. to break in – when all they needed to do was suck it up, invest in a properly fitting suit and be the charming fuckers Jo said they were. Because a suit gave that air of authority, gave that suave swagger, and Dean has been guilty of using that particular brand of sexy for pick-ups more than once.

Dean remembers the first time he went out shopping for a fitted suit. With the seams where they are supposed to go, with shoulder pads that didn't look like the suit was a hand-me-down from his dad, from the 80s. Looking at himself in the mirror, finding the suit accentuated his broad shoulders naturally. With a shirt that didn't leave room for three guns and a first aid kit if you tucked it into your pants.

So they tried to put Cas in more fitting clothes here or there, too, but he's a creature of habit just as much as anyone. Every time, he went back to Jimmy's too wide shirt, two sizes too big and hiding all the good parts.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, leans over, hooks his finger into the shirt where it gapes open, right over Cas' belt buckle. “Let me fix something for you real quick.”

And with that, Dean concentrates with his eyes closed, wishes clothes to change and rearrange, and once he opens his eyes again, the result is stunning.

Really, sliding off the couch and kneeling in front of Cas is only so Dean can take a proper look at him.

Cas in suit pants that are tight enough around the thigh to show off how muscular those are, without cutting in at the inseam or under Cas' ass. Which Dean can't see, right now, but that's what he imagined. Pants that don't fold at the ankle because they're too long, but stop just there. The white dress shirt is tailored, seams running at Cas' shoulders, framing them into a perfect V down to where they are tucked under the simple black belt. Not an inch of extra fabric taking away from the fact that Cas' hipbones deserve all the attention they can get.

Dean, kneeling between Cas' knees, shuffles closer, leans into Cas' body. He knows what he must look like, eyes wide and lips gaping, still processing through his obvious arousal. “If you'd have shown up like this in the barn, back in the day, we might have gotten here sooner,” he swallows his surprise, replaces it with a lopsided grin.

Looking down at his clothes, Cas seems bewildered as to what immense meaning humans attach to clothing, or something.

Dean chuckles. “I'm just teasing,” he adds, kissing Cas, just a quick and sweet peck.

With Cas wrapping both arms around his neck in response, Dean is pulled in and pulled under before he can so much as blink. The movie is flickering over their TV, but neither one of them pays it any attention. All Dean feels is Cas' lips on his, slow and careful at first, then insistent and hungry, and before he realizes, they have a full-on make-out session going on and he doesn't know where to put his hands.

Cas' fingers are at the back of his head, locking him in place as Cas licks Dean's mouth open, and _fuck,_ their practice has paid off, all those mornings they spent just kissing in bed for what felt like hours. Dean can only take it with a moan, feels his dick twitch, filling up what little space there is in his favorite jeans. Breaking the kiss to come up for air is almost a shame, but it needs to be done, and Dean gasps, his hands loosely stroking over Cas' knees.

Looking down, Dean dares to run them along those thick thighs, goes to the outside and back in when he approaches Cas' hips. He wants to touch, right there, but the way the fabric of Cas' pants bulges over his crotch is almost sinful.

Who'd have thought.

Dean has to swallow, a lump forming in his throat.

Those pants really hide nothing.

Who'd have thought that this is what gets him all hot and bothered – Cas' hard dick in dress pants.

But here he is, staring at Cas, who's sitting on the couch with his legs splayed wide, panting, plump lips falling apart and those blue, blue eyes hooded. Still beautiful. Still his Castiel. Dean grins at him, catches his lips again, trails kisses over his jaw to his ear, relishes in the shiver that runs through Cas.

He wants to make Cas feel _so_ good. Wants to make him forget his own name.

He's frankly gone with how much he's into this. There's a time for questioning whatever is happening now, that is, if he ever feels like it, but he doesn't right now and he might never. This is not about him, anyway. Nothing about this is. This is about the angel who _chose_ to _share his heaven with Dean_ , who chose _forever_ with him, and about Dean's racing heart in his chest and he just wants to make Cas feel good.

And so help him God-- or Jack, or how about _no,_ scratch that. He's good on his own on this one.

Dean grins, kisses the edge of Cas' lips. “Let me take care of this?” he asks, palming Cas over his pants.

Cas' response is a thing of beauty. With a roll of his back that runs from his neck down to his groin, Cas shudders, pushes against Dean's hand, and Dean is breathless with need. He latches onto Cas' neck, kisses whatever patch of skin he can reach, sucks at Cas' collar bone because he will never get enough of Cas' groans, so authentic, so wonderful.

And part of Dean doesn't even want to unzip his pants yet. To see Cas, pupils blown wide with arousal, staring at him, it gives Dean a rush of adrenaline and power and he is so down for this. He wants to enjoy it, wants to draw this out. It's not that much different from a girl accepting him to go down on her. It's really not, except the hardware is different. Cas willingly bares himself for Dean here, and Dean grins a cheeky grin before he runs his hand along his belt, to the small of his back.

Cas' breaths are moist puffs of air against Dean's lips as they exchange needy little pecks, his blue eyes a molten, cobalt blue so mesmerizing, Dean is lost in them. So he sticks his hand down the back of Cas' pants and shoves him forward, to the edge of the couch. Cas sucks in a sharp breath, head leaned back, and Dean goes straight for his neck again. The smell is overwhelming – of laundry detergent, of grass and earth and _Cas._ It engulfs Dean as he trails his hands back to Cas' front, their bodies so close he barely has space to work, barely knows how to do this with Cas distracting him, lips running down his jaw, biting at his earlobe, lips trailing the shell.

They've talked about this.

Dean is very aware of that fact as he pushes Cas against the sofa, as he leans down, mouths at Cas' dick straining against the zipper. When he looks up, Cas' expression is one of pure awe and adoration, lips twitching fondly. “Dean, you don't need to--”

“Want to,” Dean insists, his voice breaking as he interrupts Cas. Fuck, he _really_ wants to. He has no idea how it'll feel like, but he knows how mind-blowing it can be if done right. Not that he expects to do everything right on his first try, but who knows, he may be awesome like that.

Yeah, they've talked about this, it's the logical next step.

And of course that makes Dean's decision easier.

Yet, he takes his sweet time torturing Cas, building it up, drawing the moment out. Running his lips along the length, two layers separating them still, his hands on Cas' hips, pulling the fabric of his pants tight. Cas moans above him from the tease and extra friction, a sweet whimper more than a sigh following it, and Dean wishes he could tell him.

When he finally pulls down Cas' zipper and reaches through it, through the fly of his boxer briefs, and pulls him out, there's a second of insecurity.

Why, Dean doesn't know. Unfamiliar territory. Nerves, whatever.

But his eyes find Cas' when Dean looks up, and he smiles as his hands find their way into Dean's hair and just like that, Dean's nerves are gone.

What Dean wants, more than anything, is to have Cas writhe under his hands, under his touch, in his mouth. He looks gorgeous, like this, fully clothed and only his cock out, curving towards his stomach, and Dean drinks the picture in, reaches for him again and does the simplest thing.

Leans forward, thumb and index finger curled around the base of Cas' dick, and takes him into his mouth.

It's more of a stretch in his jaw than he anticipated, but he doesn't get to dwell on that thought.

Above him, Cas gives a helpless, inarticulate sound that has heat pooling low in Dean's gut.

For the first time, he sucks. Pulls up, not off, and back down, and Cas' hands tighten in his hair, not shoving, not guiding, just holding on. His breathing has become ragged, too quick, and Dean slows down to give them time.

Cas hasn't seen half of what's possible, and Dean gives a few more experimental bops of his head, tilts it this way and that, notices that the strain on his jaw is definitely there, and this isn't half as easy as it looked when girls did it on him. Wrapping his hand around the part he can't get into his mouth, Dean jerks Cas off as he sucks him, plays with his tongue around the head of his dick on his way up.

Cas gives a full body jerk at that.

And Dean wants to tease him, wants to say something, but he knows he'll interrupt the moment they're having.

So with his lips still around Cas, he looks up, captures his eyes and grins, as much as he can with a cock in his mouth.

There's something he's been wondering.

So he prays.

'Got your ears on, Cas?'

Cas' eyes go wide. Dean sucks up to the tip, loosely wraps his lips around it, licks at the slit, licks around the ridge, goes back down.

Cas groans, and that sound will be the end of Dean, one day.

'Perfect. Your voice, love it when you do that. Love to hear you like this.'

He does it again. Up, teasing Cas for the longest time, then back down as much as he can – which isn't far.

'It's not even half bad, feeling your cock stretching my jaw. I could get used to that. Will need a lot more practice though.'

“Well, is it _tolerable_ or do you enjoy it?” Cas asks, voice a grumbling, broken mess that does all kinds of things to Dean.

Among other things, it makes him palm his painfully hard erection through his jeans, and Dean makes another decision. He doesn't answer by prayer. He catches Cas' eyes again, opens his own zipper and pops the button of his jeans. Sticks his hand down his pants, jerking himself as he blows Cas, groaning with pleasure.

Cas chuckles, the tone of disbelief and toe-curling arousal and Dean--

'Love you. So much.'

It's easier, like this. These things have always been easier to say by prayer, always.

“I love you, too.”

Dean hums around his cock, gives it a few tugs with just his hand, kisses down the side to its base, never breaking eye contact. Chest rising and falling rapidly, Cas scratches his fingernails over Dean's scalp, and it only makes him hum with appreciation again.

Said cock in his mouth becomes impossibly harder and Dean wonders if Cas already close. He's also not ashamed to admit that the thought makes him groan, because it'd mean that Cas enjoyed this enough, that he made him feel _this good,_ that he-- that _Dean_ did that.

He doesn't notice when it happens, but there's a salty taste on his tongue, pre-come, most likely, and Cas' hands tighten, keeping him close, and there's more and – Cas is coming, in his mouth, with a guttural shout.

Two things happen all at once.

Dean opens his mouth, his throat, takes it all in, swallows around Cas' length, a few drops escaping the corners of his lips. And the next second, Dean spills into his hand with just two more strokes of his hand. His groan gets entirely muffled by Cas, riding out his orgasm, and Dean is overwhelmed with all of it. Surprised, speechless, as heat runs up to the tips of his ears.

When Cas is spent, Dean pulls off, lets the last of his taste linger as he rests his cheek on Cas' thigh and tucks Cas back into his pants. Even pulls the zipper up as he quips, “Geez, Cas, next time, warn a guy, would you?”

“Oh. Um. Is that customary?” Cas stutters.

Dean chuckles, sitting up. “If it means you're coming in my mouth, I'd like a heads-up next time, yeah.” Really, taking a load on his first try, he's a champion.

Maybe he should be pissed, but he can't be bothered. It's not like he didn't enjoy it, it's not like he didn't know this was one possible outcome. _Heh, come._ And maybe he would have noticed it earlier, that Cas was on the edge, if he'd had gotten his hand on his balls, if he would've had Cas laid out on their bed, able to see and feel his reactions more. If he hadn't been so busy losing himself in that little adrenaline rush of his, if he hadn't been so incredibly turned on by the whole thing.

“Sorry,” Cas smiles with a stroke of his hand along Dean's jaw, a tingle following his touch as he runs his thumb over Dean's bottom lip.

“Nah, don't be. You think I never tasted my own?” Dean laughs and kisses him, then realizes. The filthiest of kisses, really, but Dean admits he has a thing for it. Eating a girl out, have her taste herself on his lips afterwards, he's been prone to do that. “Sorry, um. Can I kiss you? This alright?” he asks as an afterthought.

“Is this what I taste like?” Cas asks, all innocent, and sounds like he really doesn't mind.

“Mmmh,” Dean hums the confirmation. Cas is an angel, and sometimes Dean needs to remember that this has never been drilled into him as something gross, something you don't do. So he goes back in, but this time, he waits for Cas to meet him. Waits there, still kneeling, hands around Cas' waist with a close-lipped smirk on his lips.

And then Cas is on him, again, licking along his lips, tip of his tongue dipping into Dean's mouth, and Dean forgets where the taste of Cas begins and where it mingles with his own. Forgets to think, forgets to stop, forgets why his heart jumps and his stomach tingles. Slowly, slowly, they calm down, lips still roaming, but more tender, more afterglow than actual heat.

Cas is the one who pulls away. “Dean, should I--” And he looks down at Dean's open jeans, at the splash of spunk over Dean's t-shirt that dripped back down over underwear, dirty white drops covering his hand that's resting on Cas' thigh. “Oh,” Cas says, a regretful grin on his lips. “I see.”

“Like I said,” Dean ducks his head as he wipes his hand on his shirt. “Don't be sorry.”

Cas pulls him up, then, urges him with one hand around his waist, the other under his ass, up, to get him closer, just closer, and Dean follows willingly.

Even if that means he ends up straddling Cas' lap on the couch, knees on either side of him. It gives him leverage though, to push Cas back against the backrest and kiss him nice and thorough until they're both boneless with it.

Cas is the epitome of Dean's fantasies. Put together, sharply dressed, but his lips kiss-swollen and reddened and shiny with spit and maybe something else, still lingering, hair disheveled and sploshes of red over his cheeks and eyes gleaming with pleasure, with love. All of the evidence he needs to sign off on a job well done.

He curls against Cas, breathes him in, and fuck, they _reek_ of sex. Cas doesn't seem to mind so Dean doesn't hurry to get cleaned up, either.

***  
  
It's a busy night at the Roadhouse, and Dean is thankful for it, because that means he doesn't have time to overthink what happened.

Because _it_ totally happened.

Dean sucked dick, and surprisingly, his world still turns.

Cas is hovering in Dean's periphery, chatting with Charlie and Jo, who throws in a sentence whenever she passes them by on her way from one end of the bar to the other.

It's easy, comfortable, just like any other night.

It's like nothing happened.

And yet, when he looks at Cas, Dean sees him, still, sitting on the couch, there.

Dean pours a beer from the tap and decidedly does not think about how Cas tasted on his tongue, salty and musky and-- Lines up shot glasses for Ouzo shots and does not think about the way his jaw is a bit sore from the unusual strain. How much he enjoys that reminder, too, whenever he grins. He looks at Cas and is so glad he made him change out of his well-fitting suit because Dean would not be able to work otherwise. Jeans and a white tee and a blue-and-white flannel, he can deal with. The shirt is a bit tight around Cas' chest, though.

Dean tries not to think about blue eyes, staring down at him, ten shades of aroused and grateful and loving and sweet, and instead goes to fill up glasses with vodka and Red Bull.

There's a constant, low-level, half-boner bugging the hell out of him.

It's when Cas smiles at him as Dean puts some frilly, foamy cocktail in front of him, that an idea strikes him.

He winks at Cas.

And starts to pray again.

'So, Cas, I'm going insane here. Still thinking about blowing you.'

Cas' eyes shoot up, meet his over the counter. They blaze with something that settles deep in Dean's heart.

Dean smirks and turns around, takes the next order.

As he fills the beer glasses, he continues, very conscious of keeping his poker face. 'I never quite got to that part where I show you what I like.' And since things have always been easier to say via prayer, he goes on, in his mind, as he makes his way across the room serving drinks. 'You don't need to be fancy with me. I love a hand around my cock as much as the next guy. I know I'll love your mouth on me, simply because it'll be _yours,_ so no pressure, really.'

Dean sees Cas shift on his bar stool as he returns.

Shoots him a cheeky grin, lets his eyes drop on purpose. 'Your lips, Cas. Shit. Those are going to fuck me up just _seeing_ them stretch around my dick.'

Cas swallows, Adam's apple bopping. Dean gets a whiskey for himself and turns half-away to down it in one go. This, this is fun.

'Won't even need to touch my balls to have me come in two seconds flat,' he adds, turns to Jo. “Any open orders?”

“None right now,” Jo shakes her head, scans the bar for any new faces. Dean follows her eyes and comes up blank, too.

'Though I do love a hand on them anyway. That reminds me, once a girl put a finger in my ass while blowing me, that was-- well, over very soon.'

Cas' eyes are glued to him, focused on his every move. His spine is rigid, shoulders tense. He's desperately trying to form responses to what Charlie says, and Dean draws his lips in, bites at them, having a hard time not bursting out laughing. This is working way too well. When Dean meets his eyes, Cas tips his chin up, defiantly, almost. Purely out of reflex, Dean licks his lips and Cas stares at them, now, which is not improving Dean's situation at all.

Making sure that Dean is still watching, Cas slips out of Dean's plaid shirt, rolls his shoulders, gets up from his chair and turns around so Dean has a perfect view of his broad back as the shirt drops and reveals that way too tight shirt. The move is almost obscene in public, like this, for someone like Cas who usually isn't to be seen in less than three layers.

He wraps the overshirt around his hips, ties the sleeves in a double knot over his crotch, where Dean can barely make out a bulge in his jeans – the lighting inside the Roadhouse is too dim, unfortunately.

'Hiding your boner?' Dean teases.

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him, drops his gaze to Dean's crotch.

Dean leans against the shelf behind him, puts one foot in front of the other to draw the attention away.

His Henley and tight jeans hide nothing.

And if this goes on for any longer, Dean will need a trip to the bathroom. Maybe throw Cas over his shoulder to keep him company and provide some inspiration while he works this tension out.

They are still busy exchanging heated glares over the counter when Jo clears her throat beside him.

Dean turns to her, has to tear his eyes away from Cas to do so, “Yes, Jo?” he asks sweetly, and she punches him in the shoulder.

“If you're going to make goo-goo eyes at him all evening, just take the night off and go get a room and fuck it out,” she grumbles. “Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick.”

“Ow,” Dean rubs his shoulder, mildly amused at her outburst.

“Seriously. No one's gonna be butthurt if you skip a night. This is not a job and you don't get paid to be here,” she grouses.

Dean shrugs. “I get that.”

“Okay,” Jo nods. “Good talk.”

And she heads off.

At least little Dean has cooled off now.

Dean still works the rest of the night. He doesn't pray about more sexual stuff, though, for his own and Cas' sanity.

***  
  
“So, can I ask, what's the plan?”

Dean looks over at the passenger seat, keys hovering in front of the ignition. “Pick up Sam and Eileen, then drive over to my parents?”

Cas scowls, “That's not what I mean and you know it.”

As he leans back into the seat, Dean fidgets with the keys instead of starting the car. “Do we need one?”

Cas holds his gaze, waits, then cocks his head to the side like only he does. He doesn't need to say it for Dean to hear it. _You tell me._

“I don't think we need one. I wish I could just say 'be yourself', but I know what we're walking into and it's going to be plenty of weird. But we can try, you know. Being ourselves.”

Taking a deep breath, Cas looks straight ahead at the workbench in front of the car. His profile is sharp, lips drawn tight in a frown. “Okay. But, tell me, Dean. Where is the point-- where are your boundaries? Because I will zap us away immediately if anything--”

Dean hides his smile, nods at the keys in his lap. “I know, Cas. I don't think you'll need to. There's nothing he could or would say that'd make that necessary.”

“So you don't expect anything to happen?”

“No, I don't,” Dean states. “My Dad is a lot of things, but he's not a homophobe. He's just a guy who grew up in the times he grew up in. I'm not nervous.”

Again with that tilt of his head. _Really?_

“Fine, I'm a _little_ nervous. Because these things always make you nervous, not because it's Dad. I've never, ever had even one girlfriend that I brought home to meet my parents, so this is a first for me, too.”

Cas smiles. He pauses, thinks, until he eventually says, “You know homophobia is nothing I can't deal with. But if he disrespects you for who you are or badmouths us or anything, you know I won't stand for it.”

“Cas, you don't need to defend me--”

“I know,” Cas states, determination in his voice. “That's not the point. _You_ stood up to _my_ father when it was necessary. Let me return the favor.”

“Yeah, let's just hope it doesn't become necessary,” Dean huffs, finally gives himself a nudge and starts the engine of the Impala. “Like I said, he's not a raging homophobe or anything. If anything, there'll be a snide comment or a hint or something like that. I can handle that just fine.”

“We,” Cas corrects him.

Dean looks at him, puts the car into reverse, hands on autopilot.

“We're in this together,” is what Cas says, soft and quiet with blue eyes shining, his eyebrows high, slanting down in that way of his that makes him look so open, so vulnerable, especially with the way he looks at Dean from the side. It's what he doesn't say but Dean hears all the same.

_I love you._

“I know,” Dean nods.

_I love you, too._

No matter what happens today, it doesn't change them, doesn't change who they are to each other. That, Dean is sure of.

And so, Dean pulls out of the driveway, and they roll down the road to Sam's and Eileen's place to pick them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, we all know what's next, let's see if it'll be a big deal. What are your thoughts? And how did you like the smut?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Dean blows Cas for the first time, dirty prayers are a thing that happens, and Sunday looms on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needs an honest disclaimer. I know quite some people want to see John's head on a plate for what he did to Sam and Dean, and rightfully so. It's going to be emotional, but I promised no hurt, all comfort. And as the show pointed out on multiple accounts itself: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. This chapter hits close to home for me and while I won't bore you with my sob story, because it isn't one, it's a story of empowerment - so should Dean's. With that in mind, enjoy!

It's unusual, driving with Cas in the passenger seat, and Sam and Eileen in the back, instead of Sam beside him.

Unusual, but comfortable. It's a quiet car ride, a Boston song humming low from the speakers to fill the silence. They don't talk.

And when they pull up to his parents' house, Dean's hands are jittery, so he grips the steering wheel a little tighter.

He feels the car shake with Sam bouncing his leg, he sees Eileen wordlessly reaching over, placing her hand on his knee or taking his hand. Dean can't really see it in the rearview mirror, but the shaking stops. One after the other, they all take a deep breath, each of them lost in thought for different reasons.

From the corner of his eyes, Cas looks at Dean.

Sam and Eileen get out of the car, and Cas leans over to place a short peck on Dean's lips. Sighing into the kiss, Dean holds Cas in place with a hand at the back of his head, follows his lips for a bit more reassurance. Not that he needs it.

Except he totally does.

Cas bumps his nose against Dean's. “Are you ready?”

“As I'll ever be,” Dean shrugs, tries to hide his nervousness behind a chuckle.

On the way to the front door, Dean holds Cas' hand.

Eileen motions for Sam to push the doorbell, and he does.

Dean swallows, notices only now that his hand is tighter around Cas' than he intended. He has  _no_ reason to be nervous. He doesn't expect  _anything_ to happen.

It's just lunch with his parents, and his brother.

_Just lunch._

“Dean,” Cas says, under his breath, “Breathe.”

Dean huffs, but breathe he does.

It's his Mom who opens the door to Sam and Eileen. Golden locks framing her face, laugh lines crinkling around her eyes. Just his Mom. Not scary at all.

And she looks at Sam, covers her mouth in surprise as tears well up in her eyes. “Sam,” she chokes out, leans up to hug him, arms tight, eyes closed. As always when his Mom and Sammy have a moment, Dean can't help but get a bit emotional for his brother's sake. He turns away, searches for Cas' eyes, and they crinkle around the corner just like his Mom's.

Dean shifts his weight on his feet, leaning closer, searching warmth, earning a nudge to his elbow. It's okay, he's okay, they're okay.

Meanwhile, Mary pulls away from Sam, turns to Eileen at his side. “And Eileen. I didn't-- you're both here? How did we not know that?” And that look goes straight to Dean, who smiles a silent apology, then stares at the tips of his boots.

Sam clears his throat, “Yes, it only happened very recently. And since you haven't met before, this is my wife,” he's all formal, almost amusing, and Dean files that material away for the next time he wants to tease Sam. “Eileen, this is... Mary. Winchester.”

_ The bunker, in the early morning, lights dimmed down. _

_ Blood on the floor, Sam nowhere in sight. _

_ The sound of a cocked gun. “Hands in the air, get on your knees!” _

_ Mary with her gun aimed at Cas point-blank. Himself, saying, “Woah, woah! It's okay. He's a friend.”  _ Yeah, right. _ Cas hugging him with the force of someone who had been sure he'd lost Dean. Cas, angry and shaken and having so many questions. Mary's look, struggling where to place Cas. _

“ _Are you a hunter?”_

_And, knowing what Dean does know, knowing what Mary thought then, placing him exactly right._

“ _This is Castiel. Cas, this is... Mary. Winchester.”_

She wears a pretty similar expression now that she meets Eileen, and since Dean has seen it before, he can only shake his head at himself.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean greets her with a warm smile when Mary steps past Sam and Eileen, and then he wraps his arms around her and feels right at home.

“Dean,” she smiles against his chest and at Cas before she hugs him, too. Afterwards, she grabs both their shoulders, squeezes, and only says, “Don't worry.” with a reassuring smile.

Dean believes her, he does.

While they still stand there, right behind the still-open front door, with his Mom, he has already seen John approach Eileen and Sam and ignored him, for now. But now that introductions are made, John goes to say hello to them, too.

His every footstep vibrates in Dean's chest. He has no idea what to expect.

“Good to see you, son,” John says, quietly. There's a smile on his face, and no trace of alcohol on his breath.

Not that Dean misses it, but that was an association in his brain that should probably scare him more than he lets it.

“Dad,” Dean nods in greeting, maybe more stern and more tense than necessary.

The half-handshake-half-hug they share is awkward, too many things left unsaid smoldering between them, Dean's arm stiff over John's shoulder, his hand between them at a weird angle.

John turns to Cas, then, and Dean swallows. “Castiel, son, welcome to our house,” he says, offering his hand for Cas to shake. “Feels strange saying this to an angel,” he adds as an afterthought, wincing. Probably noticing how out of place that 'son' was. And what exactly is 'strange', here? Calling Cas, whom he barely knows, 'son'? Welcoming Dean's boyfriend, partner, into the house is strange because he's an angel and heaven is his home, anyway? Or because he's a guy or because all of the above?

 _At least he noticed it himself,_ Dean thinks bitterly. That feels strange, indeed, as well.

Dean doesn't know what to say but inwardly, he's already foaming, bracing himself for an argument. An argument he never expected to have with his dad while he was still alive.

“Don't make my boys uncomfortable,” Mary shoots John a chiding glance, but she grins as she ushers them all towards the table, effectively taking the wind out of Dean's sails. “Dean, Cas, help me set the table?”

“Sure, Mom,” Dean hurries after her, grateful for the out she gave them.

Cas follows his lead, bless him. Mary hands Cas a handful of plates and Dean a handful of cutlery each and lets them work while Sam and John chat. Dean doesn't listen.

They sit down at the table next to each other, and the surprise of Sam being here works as well as Dean expected it to. John questions him, the way he questioned Dean when he came to heaven. It's mostly catching up on Sam's life with the worse stuff cut out for another day.

Mary puts a big portion of meatloaf on the table with dumplings and red cabbage and Dean grins at his Mom knowingly. She shrugs, and grins right back before she goes to serve the salad.

“No meat for us, thanks,” Sam says, and that's the topic of discussion for the next ten minutes at least, so Dean sighs under his breath, relieved, an digs in.

There's an extra set of cutlery on the table. He hadn't counted how many knifes and forks Mary had handed him, but now that they're seated, it's obvious.

Dean wonders, for a moment, before he remembers Jack. It seems like a thing Mary does, just in case, and it makes him smile, to see Jack would always be welcome.

The meal itself isn't half bad. The food, of course, is fantastic, but conversation is easy enough as well, talking about their houses, what they spend their time doing, about the Roadhouse. Just chatter between bites of food.

Dean allows himself to relax, silently checks in with Cas every couple of minutes, but Cas doesn't say anything without being asked either.

It feels like talking around the elephant in the room, and Dean knows it'll come up sooner or later anyway, but for now, he's got a belly full of good food and his partner at his side. He's good, he can get through this.

“So, um, Dean, I meant to ask,” John smiles, wiping his mouth with a napkin. It's been too long since they talked, really talked, but Dean is almost sure he's nervous, too, “Since when are you two together?”

“Um,” Dean coughs, taken by surprise. “Not that long, actually, we--”

“Twelve years,” Sam chuckles under his breath, interrupting him.

Dean gives him the best bitchface he can manage, but Sam only shrugs it off.

“What?” he grins, the jerk.

“We haven't been a couple for twelve years, okay,” Dean huffs, exasperated. 

Eileen, so far only having grinned at her plate, adds a cheeky, “Could've fooled me,” then highfives her husband.

Now that's taking flak from where Dean did not expect it. “Two weeks,” is what he eventually says, letting their attempt at trying to make this a less tense conversation fall flat. On purpose.

John looks between all of them, seems like he doesn't know where to start. “So this is... recent?”

Dean nods.

There's a pause, an unsettling one.

Until John tries again. “Mary tells me you two have always been close and Dean, you, um, didn't seem to have any... significant others while she was around. Was that part of, I mean--” he breaks off, looks away. At least he's uncomfortable as hell, too, even if he seems like he wants to make an effort.

Excusing herself to the bathroom, because Dean recognizes that sign already, Eileen leaves for the moment.

His stare at John is the only constant for Dean, right now, as he tries to make sense of him. His thoughts are jumbled, messy. Part of him wants to scream, but when he talks, it comes out rather monotone. “What are you saying, Dad?”

“This is probably totally inappropriate and if so, please tell me,” John says, “But what did I miss? Have there been other men? Because I know I said... stupid stuff back in the day. I don't remember it all that much, but I'm sure I did. If that hurt you-- I mean.”

Mary gets up to clean the table, and Sam hurries to help her. They're still in earshot, since the dinner table is in the room right next to the open kitchen, but at least there's the illusion of less people listening in on them, now.

Cas is right there, right next to him.

Dean is not afraid.

For one long, deep, soothing lungful of air, he says nothing. “Yeah, all due respect, but you said  _quite_ some stupid shit. To protect me, or whatever. Despite the 'all men are perverts' crap, like I wouldn't know,” he huffs. “Yeah, that. Didn't make it any easier to work this out--” Dean motions between him and Cas, and ends with a sarcastic smile. “So thanks for a lifetime of repressing who I am, but no, there weren't any other men, just Cas, so you didn't miss anything.”

John swallows. 

Cas watches them, at attention, waiting to react if need be, and Dean loves him only more for it.

“I'm sorry, son, I never meant to-- I didn't think you'd be, you know.”

Thing is, Dean made his speech and he'd have left it at that, because everything was said and done a long time ago and there's nothing anyone of them can change about it, now. And yet, Dean feels like he needs to put his finger into that wound. “That I might be what - _gay?_ Not that there's anything wrong with that, but, nah. I'm not,” he spits.

“Bisexual, is that the right terminology, then?” his Dad asks, and that is not what Dean has expected and - John _tries_ and this whole conversation is so far beyond both of their comfort zone, but. John tries, and Dean humors him.

“I don't really care much about labels, but you could call it that, yes,” he admits, amicably.

“Okay,” John shrugs and drinks some water.

Dean blinks and stares at him.

“You seem like you expected something, but not this,” John observes.

Exchanging a short look with Sam and a longer one with Cas, Dean tries to put into words what has his mind in a tangle. Sam only swallows, Cas gives a tiny nod.

“Well, yeah,” Dean sighs. “I expected you to have some... objections. Some opinions, something to say about this, at least.”

“Dean,” Mary sighs, too, as if to warn him, but it's John who continues.

“This is heaven,” he shrugs. “We've spent enough time arguing back in the day, didn't we? And, you know, we've all been to Hell--”

Mary huffs, raises her hand. “Hello, I haven't.”

“Okay, so _almost_ all of us have been to Hell, and if that doesn't set stuff into perspective, I don't know what would.”

Speechless, Dean nods, a harsh breath escaping him. There's truth to it.

“And you know I wouldn't have gone all bible thumper on you, Dean,” John adds.

“Yeah, not that,” Dean shakes his head. “Tell you the truth, I don't know what exactly I expected. But not that. I was just, braced for a fight that never happened, I guess.”

“Feel like trying to take down a door that wasn't locked in the first place?”

“Well,” Mary throws in with an eyeroll and eyebrows lifted high. “Was it? Locked?”

“Okay, got me,” John admits. “Let's not say locked, maybe just... closed.”

Dean perks up at that, feeling partly confirmed in his assumptions. “Yeah?”

“I've only ever seen you with girls, Dean. I never thought... It just never crossed my mind, okay, to even recognize that there was the possibility, and while I know a lot can happen in a few years -”

“Don't worry, I picked his brain about that already,” Mary adds, interrupting him.

“Well, that's legit, I guess,” Dean says. “But really, do I need to pick apart my sexuality now? I love Cas. Okay. Fullstop.”

Mary smiles at Cas, then, and states in the most obvious tone, “Of course you do.” And Dean can't even be mad about it.

Waiting until Dean looks back at him, John adds, “And if me saying that... stuff when you were younger, if that complicated things, then I'm sorry. I never wouldn't have wanted you to be unhappy.”

Dean huffs, closes his eyes for a moment. That is a whole different box with ten layers of duct tape around it and a neon red 'Do Not Open' sign on every side. Maybe a 'Fragile' one, too, and Dean won't touch this with a ten foot pole, not today. “Um, no. You wouldn't have wanted me to have any relationship, whatsoever, because that only put a bullseye on that person's back.”

“Yeah, because that's the life,” John states, frowning. They both quickly glance at Sam, who ignores them, pointedly so.

“You see,” Dean leans forward, on his elbows, and tries to speak as neutrally and without an accusing tone as he can, “Cas and I, we've spent the past decade with a bullseye on our backs. Not because we dated - since we didn't - but because everyone thought we were an item anyway and used us enough against each other as it was. We might as well have dated, because it wouldn't have changed a damn thing.”

It got them dead, more than once, too, but that's another thing that Dean won't touch on for now.

Under the table, Dean feels Cas' hand settle on his thigh and squeeze.

Obviously, John doesn't know what to say.

“But that's got nothing to do with you, Dad,” Dean laughs a bitter laugh, “Nothing at all.”

A tentative smile appears on John's lips that Dean can't place. “I see,” he says.

“What?” Dean scowls at both John as well as Mary and Sam, who have not so subtly listened in on them.

“That's why I said twelve years,” Sam throws in, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “'s 'cause you two have been an old married couple since forever.”

“Well, screw you, Samantha,” Dean replies, feeling pissed at the world at large and at Sam's attempts at lightening the mood in particular.

Sam hums and smirks and fucks off, at least. Small mercies.

“Listen, Dean,” John clears his throat, building up to what he apparently tried to say all along. “I know that I didn't do right by you, in too many ways. We've had this talk.” He looks up, and for once, he looks at Cas, when he states, “But I would never deny you happiness. I'd have to lie, saying I wasn't surprised or thrown off to hear about your role in Dean's life, Castiel, but from what Mary tells me, you've been a loyal friend and an important part of both of my sons' lifes for a long time. And honestly, it'd be easier if I could just go get my shotgun and give you the usual third degree, tell you to never hurt my boy or so help me I will come get you, but I know--” John breaks off with a self-depreciating laugh. “-- one, he'd do that himself--”

Dean nods his head side to side, considers it. “We had our fair share of beating each other up.”

“That was once,” Cas quirks an eyebrow at him. Sam snorts in the background.

“You me or I you?”

“The alley and the crypt,” Cas says. “You, under the mark.”

Dean swallows, every bit of amusement fading from his voice. “Ah, that.”

John clears his throat. “Will you boys let me finish?” he grumbles, trying to get through this. Dean is not mad about him suffering through this, though. “One, he'd do that himself, and two, who am I to threaten an angel of the lord, right.”

“In all fairness,” Cas answers, “Dean did threaten me by the second time we met. To kick my ass, specifically.”

Oh, Dean remembers that conversation in the kitchen all too well. Unexpectedly, he bursts out laughing.

“Did he, now,” John chuckles. “Well, see point one.”

Cas smiles, a lopsided little smile that's ten kinds of cute and Dean wants to kiss it right off his perfect face but he surely won't do that in front of his Dad. So he reaches under the table, places his hand on top of Cas' that's still on his thigh.

“And to wrap this up, if you're happy, who am I to judge. This is heaven, anyway. And even if it wasn't, it's your life, Dean, and I've spent too much time of mine telling you what to do with yours. On top of that, I certainly wasn't around enough to notice... things like these. So I'll shut up about it.”

Mary appears behind John's back, somewhere around the last two sentences, places her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. “See, that wasn't so hard, darling,” she smiles.

“It was _plenty_ awkward,” John says as Dean winces.

“Yeah,” Dean adds. “There's a talk I thought we'd never have.”

“Well, unfortunately, we can't help with the birds and bees talk, we have no idea how that works for you two,” Mary chimes in, teasing.

“Oh my God,” Dean groans, hiding his face behind both hands. “Please, let's not, Mom.”

Sam turns around then to say, “And Cas, remember to keep your angel blade at hand, for protection.”

Cas blinks at him, not getting it. Dean rubs his forehead.

Sam continues, “And for the birds and bees, Dean, is there a section on Busty Asian Beauties for that kind of--”

“Sam, I swear,” Dean fixes him with a glare, then points at Cas without looking away from Sam, “Cas, don't even.”

Cas shuts his already open mouth.

They are not talking about pornography at his parents' dinner table, not as long as Dean can help it.

“I'm sure you'll figure it out,” Mary smirks, “Or figured, I don't even want to know.”

“I hate you all,” Dean deadpans like the teenage girl he is.

That he can laugh about it with his family, now, is testament to how heaven works. John smiles at Mary, “Now who's making her boys uncomfortable.”

She hits his shoulder. “Sorry,” she nods at Dean and Cas. She's so not sorry.

“Are we done? Please tell me we're done,” Dean asks the room at large, deflates with relief when there are no more questions or quips thrown his way. Their way.

Surprisingly, this was less weird with the Roadhouse gang, with his found family. Dean rubs both hands over his eyes, feels Cas pull his hand away from his thigh, to curl his arm around Dean's shoulders.

Mary claps her hands, asks Dean what kind of pie wants for coffee later, and Dean wordlessly gets up to join her at the kitchen counter, pulling Cas with him.

Sam takes over entertaining Dad for the time being, and Cas gets to help with Winchester style pie, measuring, mixing and kneading dough while Mary and Dean work at the filling. Pitting cherries and cooking them to a filling takes time, after all.

When they're done, Dean sees puffs of white in Cas' dark hair, where flour has inexplicably made its way upwards. Laughing, he reaches up to ruffle Cas' hair, explains, “You've got flour there,” but his hand lingers once the flour is gone.

They have barely touched in the last hour and a half and Dean feels starved.

But they're also standing in his parents' kitchen, Mary is starting on cleaning the baking tools right next to Dean, and Cas was busy wiping down the countertop. Sam and Eileen and his Dad are chatting at the table across the room and this isn't the time or the place.

Dean couldn't care less.

Cas lowers his chin, averts his eyes because of course he senses what Dean feels, and Dean mumbles a quiet, “Hey,” only meant for Cas' ears, before he takes half a step forward.

When Cas looks up, Dean kisses him. Long enough so it's more than a peck, short enough so it's not inappropriate in company.

And feeling Cas smile against his lips is all the reassurance Dean needs.

He leans back, heart beating rapidly, and turns towards his Mom. Picks up a wet bowl to dry it with the kitchen towel in his hands to distract everyone, but mostly himself. She shoots him a knowing, lopsided smile, but other than that, there's no reaction in the room.

Dean doesn't look towards the table. Not because he's ashamed but because he knows they all must've noticed. And it doesn't matter. He made his point, to be himself around them. Fuck what anyone thinks.

Dean makes sure to steal even more kisses, all afternoon, in plain sight.

***  
  
Later that afternoon, when they have dropped off Eileen and Sam at their place, Dean turns into their driveway and waits for the garage door to open.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas wants to know.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, then really thinks about it before he adds, “Yeah, I think so.”

He hits the gas, pulling into the garage, then, and kills the engine. Neither of them moves, only the center light of the garage creates less dim shadows through the windshield.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean fidgets with his keys, again. “For being there today. You didn't need to.”

“Of course.”

And he says it so nonplussed, so matter-of-factly that Dean can only laugh. “I know, we've had worse to go through, together, this doesn't even compare.”

“Not, it's not that,” Cas shakes his head, slowly, then waits for Dean to look at him. “This was important to you. And I think I mentioned it once, that when you care about something, I care about it, too.”

Dean chuckles. “Right,” he smiles, turns sideways, pulls his knee up onto the bench seat. There was something he meant to say, something that had been bugging him ever since they were at his parents'. And what an awkward afternoon that was.

“I guess I learned a lesson in expectation management today,” is what he ends up saying.

Cas smiles, then closes the distance on the bench between them, turns until his knee is resting against Dean's.

Reaches up, cradles Dean's face in both hands and puts his lips on Dean's, so tender, so loving that it makes Dean gasp.

The Impala isn't a small car by any means, but they're two grown men in the front seat. And there's a steering wheel in front of Dean, even though they don't have a stick shift and a center console to work around.

When Cas' lips turn soft and pliant under Dean's, he knows this won't be done all that soon, so they might as well settle in.

Making Cas lift his arms, Dean shrugs off his jacket, folds it up in a vague cushion-like shape to put behind Cas' head and dips him right back into the seat.

“Dean--” Cas says, almost shocked with the sudden movement, but when his head hits Dean's jacket and the corner of the door and backrest, understanding dawns on his face. Dean is pulled down into grinning lips while still sorting out their legs.

The Impala is not a small car and this is far from the first time Dean has done this, but rearranging themselves so Dean has some way of holding himself upright against Cas, it's a feat.

Especially with those skilled lips doing their damnest to distract him from the task at hand.

Dean snorts, huffs, “Wait, wait,” against Cas' eager lips, but Cas just closes his teeth around Dean's bottom lip and _tugs_ and Dean groans.

He remembers, being sixteen and barely allowed to drive, with a fake ID anyway, but still – he remembers, being sixteen and making out with a girl under the stars, right here, in the front seat.

Not like anything more happened that night, but Dean remembers being nervous, being a mess of jittery hands and curling heat in his pants, with nowhere to go and no idea of what to do.

Well, there's not much that has changed over the years. Dean's fingers tremble when he runs his hand under Cas' flannel, around his middle, to the base of his spine, holding on tight. His stomach, recently having lost the weight of Cas officially meeting his parents, is in jumbles, tingling, nerves and arousal singing through his veins, his heart in his throat. He asks, and Cas gives. Cas asks, and Dean gives. Together, they sink into the seat that smells so familiar, as much like home and comfort as nothing ever could, and Cas ends up flat on his back as the kiss goes on.

Dean finds himself straddling Cas' lap on the bench seat, one foot on the floor, Cas' legs folded up impossibly behind Dean's back and again – the Impala is not a small car by _any_ means, and they are two grown-ass men, but somehow, it works.

Much like back in the day, Dean still has no idea what to do. Part of him wants to take the action upstairs, but another part of him recognizes that whatever they're doing, for once they have not veered off into the sexual – yet? - and it's kind of comfortable to keep it that way.

So Dean leans down, rests his weight on his elbows, at both sides of Cas' head, wraps his fingers into just long enough strands of dark hair, and makes out with Cas like he's sixteen and has no idea what to do or where this might go, like he's sixteen and kissing is the most amazing thing to do, like a bit of frottage over clothes is the most he hopes to get out of this, like he's sixteen and orgasms are still something that happens and nothing he can control.

He tilts his head, deepens and slows the kiss, dips his tongue against Cas' bottom lip, wallows in the toneless sigh he elicits. Cas swallows, pursing his lips, and Dean knows that it's on, now. There's a hand under his shirt, rubbing circles into naked skin, right below his shoulder blades. There's a knee, right under his crotch, waiting for him to rub against.

Dean doesn't quite want to.

He takes the heat out of the kiss on principle, pulls back, tips his forehead against Cas, breathes.

Cas' eyes are closed, his features relaxed. Ruffling his hair makes him look up at Dean, eyes shining in a deep ocean blue in the too-dim light. “Why are you holding back?”

“Because,” Dean mumbles, smiles down at Cas, then looks around them with a pointed gaze. “I want to enjoy this. This is special, you know.”

Cas blinks when Dean leans back down again. Confusion gives way to mischief. “Because we're here, in your car?”

“Yeah,” Dean grins, and Cas rolls his eyes, full of affection and fondness.

“Of course,” Cas notes, teases with his hand trailing down Dean's spine, tracing the bumps of his vertebrae until he reaches Dean's waistband and belt. “I'm not the first of your... endeavors in here, am I.”

Dean snorts. “No. But. First guy. And definitely the first one as special as this car.”

“I'm honored,” Cas deadpans.

“Okay, that sounded better in my head,” Dean admits, wincing.

Cas' fingers dip under the waistband of his jeans, searching for his underwear. “I know what you mean, though. And I agree, we should enjoy this. I assure you, I do. But there are more pressing matters at hand.”

And despite all of Dean's efforts to keep this PG, Cas holds Dean right where he is, with his hand down the back of Dean's pants, and grinds up into him. Pushes that meaty thigh against Dean's half-hard dick, fingers digging into the cheek of his ass.

Dean's arms shake with the force of the groan going through him.

“Cas,” he pants. And he has no idea what he wanted to say in the first place, too many feelings all at once, not conflicting ones, but _so many_ swirling in his chest. He goes for humorous. “For once I'm trying to keep it in my pants 'cause I like kissing you and then you go and do that.”

“Sorry,” Cas tips his chin up, kisses down Dean's neck until his muscles give out and Dean drops his head against Cas' shoulder. Taking full advantage of it, Cas follows it up with a whispered, “You try keeping it in your pants with a lap full of gorgeous, green-eyed hunter with freckles.”

“Now you're just sweet-talking me,” Dean grins.

“Does it work?”

Dean bites his lips, ruts down against Cas, relishes in the sharp intake of breath as he feels Cas' hardness against his own. “Ya think?”

“Dean,” Cas intones, cradling Dean's face to look at him, “Listen, if you want to do this later or elsewhere, please tell me, I'll--”

Dean plucks Cas' hands from his face and shuts him up. First with a kiss, then with his hips, rolling against Cas' again and again, and then with a hand down the front of Cas' pants, around Cas' cock, jerking him off right there in the front seat of his most prized possession.

Thank fuck she's got leather seats that are easy to wipe down and clean.

“What about you?” Cas asks, afterwards, when he has regained his breath and his decency, cleaned up and pants re-zipped.

Dean hums. “Nah, don't worry about me for now. I just wanted to kiss you. Can we go back to that?”

“Absolutely.”

They make out until Dean's legs are tingling and asleep, until Cas' admits that his neck hurts from being propped up on Dean's folded jacket for too long, and Dean's stomach grumbles in protest, demanding food.

And yet, Dean feels it, deep in his bones.

Relief. Contentment. Belonging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we've had some inconsistent writing for John over the years, but while I don't think that John deserves redemption or forgiveness, he's not as black and white a character as he's often painted to be. So I hope you can see the John I pictured here. The way I see it, there can never be an excuse for what John did, but there can be explanations.
> 
> This is a heavy chapter, I know, but I respectfully ask you to keep anything related to child abuse out of the comments (we're at that point again where this hits too close to home for me). Thank you - and still, I'd love to hear from you. Let me know! <3 Thanks for sticking with me!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: the family lunch becomes a bit awkward, but they all power through, and Dean and Cas have some fun in the front seat of the Impala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be quite honest, I was nervous about posting that last chapter. I'm really happy that you could all see the way I saw John, and thank you all so much for your feedback!

They get pizza for dinner and spend the evening in the hot tub, just soaking away the stress of the day in the pale light of the half moon and the stars.

Dean entangles his feet with Cas' after they sit down at opposite ends of the tub, leans back into the shaped seat and relaxes into the water jets massaging his back. “The hot tub was a friggin' fantastic idea,” he states with a sigh as he feels the tension in his muscles dissipate after a while.

“It's alright,” Cas shrugs, rubs his toes along the inside of Dean's foot, but adds, “The warmth and movement of the water is soothing in a way, I admit.”

And that's a challenge right there for Dean to accept, isn't it?

“It's also pretty fantastic for making out.” It's a taunt, a dare, and Dean sends a smolder across six feet of bubbling water.

Cas locks eyes with him, then slowly lifts his chin up, studying Dean as if to find out what his intentions are, as if that wasn't obvious.

Dean winks at him, and he knows Cas can't really see it under the bubbling surface, but he can track the movement of his arms as he rubs his hands down his thighs, back up to rest at his groin. Truth is, Dean is very unsubtle about the fact that he's been hard ever since he and Cas stripped down to get into the hot tub. Drawing Cas' attention to that is just part of the game.

Then again, he's entitled - he didn't get off in the car earlier.

So Dean reaches out, offers his hand for Cas to take, and pulls him over to his side. Cas ends up in Dean's lap, straddling him. Their lips find each other's in an unhurried kiss, open-mouthed and easy, and Dean doesn't rush for an orgasm – they have all the time they want and need. Cas sucks Dean's bottom lip between his, teeth grazing over it before he releases it, and Dean sighs as he licks over Cas' lips in return. Huge hands and dexterous fingers trail over his chest and nipples, over his ribs, around to his back, not quite tickling, toeing that line perfectly and keeping it on the sexy side, Dean shivering with the way Cas maps out the lines of his body down to his hips.

But it's not enough.

It's not enough and Dean needs Cas closer, just closer, so he doesn't hesitate to grab Cas' ass with both hands, smirks when blue eyes fall shut around a groan he totally caused. With a proud grin, he shoves his hard dick against Cas' again – and the way their bodies move against each other's, slick, wet skin sliding over slick, wet skin, bubbles trailing and tickling on their way upwards, it feels amazing all around.

Cas falls into a languid rhythm of rocking against him, causing delicious friction and perfect pressure and, _no,_ “Stop, hold on, or I'm gonna come,” Dean gasps, when he can barely control himself any more.

“That does seem unsanitary,” is Cas' comment, and Dean rolls his eyes, huffs out a laugh.

Cas grins and pulls him into another kiss.

They decide to take it up to the bedroom, then, and Dean stumbles over his feet, tugging at Cas' hand as they head down the hallway. In a jumble of limbs and feet and stealing kisses, the only thing Dean manages to do is make Cas' sit his cute ass down on the mattress to climb over him.

They didn't even bother getting dressed after the hot tub. Talk about a waste of time.

And it's not so much about getting off – well, it is, technically, but seeing Cas here in the middle of their bed, legs crossed at the ankles, leaning back on his arms, all of his glorious, soft skin laid out for Dean – as it is about Dean wanting to wrap him up and never let him go anywhere ever again.

Yeah, he's a possessive bastard, so what.

It's Dean, this time, who straddles Cas and sits down on his lap. One thing he absolutely can do right now is hold Cas in his arms, kiss him senseless, and that is _so_ happening. He starts slow this time, little pecks to the corner of Cas' lips, over his stubble, over his chin, back to full lips, kissing, teasing, thumb rubbing Cas' along cheek and jaw.

With his weight off balance like this, Cas has to wrap his arms around Dean's middle to hold on, and his palms wander up to Dean's shoulder blades.

Neither one of them pays their cocks any attention, laying plump and heavy next to each other, but they are still rubbing together with every move.

“Dean.”

“Hmmm.”

“The girl you told me about in your... prayer. The one who fingered you during oral sex.”

Dean snorts. Seems like he'll need to get used to Cas' clinical way of talking about sex. “Yes?”

Cas squints at him as he carefully inquires, “You enjoyed that, right? May I try it, too?”

And _woah._

 _That mental image._ Dean's brain bluescreens for a moment.

“Which part, because both seems like a lot at once,” Dean chuckles, leans in to nibble at Cas' lips, to cover up the sudden surge of nerves.

Under him, Cas' breaths get quicker, the hot puffs of air hitting Dean's lips more frequent than before, and then there's a hand at the base of his spine, Cas' index finger trailing down, down, dipping into the crack of his ass.

Not quite touching.

But there.

“This,” Cas says.

His fingertip rests just above Dean's rim, so close, nerves tingling, and Dean swallows his nerves and nods, “But first.”

He reaches around himself, plucks Cas' hand off of him by the wrist, and lifts Cas' index and middle finger to his lips.

“As long as you don't push it in, we don't need lube, but a little spit will make things easier,” he grins, then sucks Cas' fingers into his mouth, slowly, watching as Cas' lips drop open and attentive, electric blue eyes turn hazy, eyelids falling shut, almost.

Between them, Cas' cock twitches against Dean's. “Why is this...” Cas clears his throat. “Why does it look so appealing when you do that?”

Dean lets Cas' fingers slip from his mouth, fingertips resting against his bottom lip as he says, nothing short of smug, “'cause you remember what I looked like giving you a blowie.”

“What?” Cas blinks.

“Your cock, in my mouth,” Dean clarifies, tilts his head. “Oral sex.”

“Oh,” Cas sighs. “Right.”

They're maintaining their slow frottage, and at this point, it's merely to keep up the arousal, to steady that level of adrenaline and oxytocin in their bodies.

Letting go of his fingers, Dean guides Cas' hand back around him, and his finger returns to its previous position, and if Dean tilts his hips just so--

The first touch makes him shiver without Cas having to move a damn finger, literally. It activates nerve endings Dean has neglected for a long time. But that one touch is enough to make Dean's thoughts run wild. If this is what a simple touch, not even a deliberate one, can do, then what will it feel like to have Cas' dick enter his ass?

He imagines it, with Cas' finger slipping lower, tip resting right at the puckered hole, and gasps.

It's no mental stretch to imagine this.

Dean doesn't bother to filter his thoughts, not any more. “I could ride you like this, you know,” he whispers, a low drawl and an upwards twist to his lips.

“What?” Cas asks.

“I could ride you, in this position,” Dean repeats, heart leaping into his throat, not sure if Cas didn't understand him or just didn't hear him properly.

“Oh, you mean, with me penetrating you anally,” Cas realizes and momentarily, Dean crumbles.

And he laughs into Cas' shoulder and doesn't even know why this shit is so funny, but he can't stop for a hot minute there.

“You know,” he wheezes at Cas' bewildered and slightly offended face, “There's a million ways you could've said that without it sounding like a prostate exam, but that was just-- so you. But ok, yes, that is what I meant.”

“How would you have worded it, then?” Cas inquires.

And as if this is a challenge, there's _that_ eyebrow that Cas always seems to aim at Dean whenever he dares him to do something.

Dean smirks, but takes a moment to collect his thoughts. There are fingertips, tickling his neck, teasing him, there's a curious smirk on Cas' beautiful, plush lips before him.

Excruciatingly slowly, Dean rolls his hips forward again, seeking contact, and both of them are pressed against Cas' lower abdomen. For a nerdy guy who sold ad space once, Cas is _ripped_ , and Dean – now that he sees the appeal – appreciates the hard muscles there providing some friction.

“You fucking me,” Dean says, deliberate, accentuating every word. “Your dick in my ass. Your fingers giving me a prostate massage. Me riding your cock. All of the above?”

Cas' Adam's apple bops. Up, and down.

And this is definitely food for thought, this is something for later. This is what he could have, and Cas seems to get that, now, too. He stares up at Dean, wondering, “What's the difference? Of wording it like that?”

Just for fun, Dean changes the angle, rubbing his cock against the dip of Cas' hipbone, and blue eyes hide behind thick lashes, jaw dropping, lips sighing around an 'oh'. The thought of Cas, well, _penetrating him anally,_ is not that scary any more, somehow. If this is what he'll get, riding Cas, he will, because Cas is beautiful like this. A spark in his eyes, lips kiss-swollen and pink in his cheeks. Not to mention the hair, but that has always been a hot, distracting mess.

“The difference between,” Dean changes his voice to a mocking, cheerful and high-pitched tone, “'Oh gee, I would wish for your penis to enter my anal cavity', or,” and while Cas almost broke into a smile, there, Dean lowers his chin, stares darkly at Cas and drops his voice about an octave as he growls, “Cas, I want to you fuck my ass so hard I can't sit tomorrow.”

“I... see,” Cas gulps, fingers digging into Dean's hips, head tilted back. “Would you like that, in particular?”

“No idea,” Dean grins, looks down between them, the evidence of dirty talk and its effects on blatant, reassuring display. “But that's great, isn't it? We get to find out, all for ourselves.”

“Yes, that is something I very much look forward to,” and how does he even string sentences like this one together when he has Dean in his lap, writhing and bucking and talking dirty. When Dean is already losing his mind, having to voice the things his brain is barely able to cope with, when there's still Cas' finger, rubbing circles around his entrance. “Do you have any experience with it?”

Dean makes himself focus on the topic at hand, and yes, they're seriously discussing anal sex while Cas is almost-fingering him and he breathes in, breathes out, shakes his head, “Not aside from that girl.” He sighs, feels that familiar tingle in his balls. A compressed coil, winding up, ready to spring.

“Not even any experience as the active part?” Cas wants to know.

Yeah, there'd been _that._

Dean swallows. To this day, it's one of his better hookup experiences, and while the kink never occurred to him before that, he got it, that night. “There was... another girl. Just someone I picked up at a bar and she was already talking about me fucking her ass on the way to the car. Honestly, I did not know just how obsessed she was with it. In a good way, though. We barely got any foreplay in, she knew what she wanted, and I just laid there and watched her do all the work, prepare herself – which, since she didn't do this for the first time, took her like thirty seconds but, man, that was _so_ _hot_ to watch – and then she rode me and it felt amazing. For her, too, she was so into it. Never met anyone else like that again.”

Cas' fingers are drawing figure-eights and Dean humps against him, the steady motion grounding him, keeping him from getting lost in his head.

Pulling Dean close as if to kiss him, Cas whispers against Dean's lips, soft and sweet, “Do you want to try that with me?”

“Not today,” Dean smiles, pushes against Cas, aligning their hips, aligning their dicks, and closing the distance between their lips. “But someday,” he mumbles between kisses.

“I want it all,” Cas admits, determined, his voice a low purr that goes straight to Dean's cock. “I want to try it all, with you. Want to know what makes you feel good, what makes you come, want to see what I enjoy, too.”

Dean pants, drops his forehead against Cas' shoulder as he rocks against him. Cas looks up at the ceiling, as if he's thinking about something, and after a few moments, Dean gets to hear it.

His voice is shot to hell, but Cas says, “I want to finger you while sucking your dick. I want to know what it feels like to have your cock in my ass. And I--”

It's too much. All too much. Dean wraps his hand around both of them, starts a hard, fast rhythm, no more wallowing in the moment, enjoying the journey, whatever – he _needs_ it, he needs to _come_.

Cas pulls his hand off and Dean groans, frustration and heat and desperation.

“And,” Cas intones, catching his eyes and holding his gaze, “I want,” and there's a deliberate pause as Cas' finger dips against the center of Dean's entrance, the muscle already starting to relax, but Cas doesn't push, just puts his finger there. “to fuck your ass,” Cas repeats Dean's words and no, that is just _not_ fair, “so hard,” a push of of the pad of his finger, millimeters at best, but Dean arches his back, pushes against it, thoughts going in circles, imagining it, what it'd feel like, Cas' cock right there, pushing in, so slow, stretching him, filling him up until Cas is balls deep inside him, cockhead angled against Dean's prostate, the slight discomfort, maybe some burn as his muscles give way, but there's only a finger now, only a finger, and not even in, not even pushing and it's _excruciating_ \-- and Cas finishes, “until you can't sit tomorrow.”

Gulping down air, heart racing, Dean begs in a rush of words, hoarse, broken, “Please, Cas, please, put it in, just a bit, it's okay, just the tip, please, wanna feel you--”

“You sure?” Cas asks, and Dean nods.

“'m gonna come,” he says, feels Cas' other hand grab his ass cheek, holding on, and then there's that delicious push and a slight burn, spit dried, not enough lube, but Cas' finger entering him, just one, not more than the tip, but it's not about that, not at all.

Dean pushes forward, rutting against the groove of Cas' hipbones, and then there's a finger in his ass and he sees white.

Lets his eyes fall shut, pushes down with his hips, fingers clawing at Cas' shoulder blades as he reaches his climax without a hand on his dick, shooting dirty white ropes of come splattering against Cas' chest. He feels the heaving breaths against his lips, against his rib cage, and reaches for Cas' dick between them, strokes him to completion, and Cas buries his face in Dean's neck as he gives in to his orgasm, too.

“Well,” Dean chuckles afterwards, hanging spent around Cas' shoulders, limbs tingly and asleep, and he can't feel his toes.

“Well,” Cas echoes, grinning, slumping against his chest.

“Cleanup, then sleep?” Dean kisses his cheek, nuzzling the stubble there.

Cas hums and pulls Dean into a guided fall into the sheets. “No cleanup. Tired. Too cozy like this.”

They trade lazy kisses, which is the last thing Dean remembers before falling into the deep, content sleep of someone who just had an earth-shattering orgasm.

***  
  
Dean goes fishing, early the next morning, to have some alone time, to clear his head. He feels like he needs it.

“Are you coming?” he offers to Cas, because Cas has never been an interference factor even in these situations, “Or would you rather spend the day in the garden?”

“I'll join you later,” Cas smiles, still in his underwear, cup of coffee in hand, looking ruffled and sleepy and sexy and perfect.

Dean steps closer, grabs his waist, and pulls him in for a kiss. “See you later, then,” he whispers into Cas' lips.

Ten minutes later, he has settled with a folding chair and his fishing rod at the lake, at _their_ lake, and takes a deep breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth.

Instead of fighting this feeling of being alone, Dean allows himself to enjoy it. It's good, having time for himself, every once in a while. And he knows that Cas will be there, later. Anyway, Cas will be there in the morning when he wakes up and in the evening when they go to sleep. And isn't that everything he ever wanted.

He lets his mind wander, because he can.

A lot of stuff has happened since he'd last been here. Since Jack had popped up and told him that heaven worked in mysterious ways, since Jack told him to wait for Sam, to be patient because it had some kind of reason.

And finally, between all the discoveries of the bedroom kind that he made with Cas over the past days, between having lunch with family and friends, between nights at the Roadhouse – between all of that filling his life here with more than enough to do, he finally realized something.

Since Sam has been back, they haven't spent nearly as much time with each other as Dean expected them to. Not nearly as much as they spent together on earth.

It's weird. Maybe because as long as Dean can think, he and Sam have always been together. The few times they weren't for a prolonged period of time are standing out like a sore thumb.

And yet, Sam has his own life, he has Eileen, and eventually, they will be reunited their son.

And Dean has had no qualms whatsoever about going over to Sam and then leaving again.

Which is weird, in a good way.

Sam will be there whenever Dean feels like grabbing a plate of greasy diner food for old time's sake, because that was their life together in a nutshell.

Sam also doesn't want to sit with him in the car for days at a time any more, but that's okay. They truly had their fair share of road trips in their time. Sam won't always be with him. Which is fine. The fact that Dean will have to build a whole entire new relationship with his brother – one that is not constructed around the fact that hunting is a necessity – it's all fine.

Because Sam is his own person. So is Dean.

And that's fine, too.

He has a life now. Dean has Cas and a shitload of friends up here and he's happy.

What Sam managed on earth, he had to go to heaven for to really _get it._

Dean remembers Jack giving him some food for thought. About heaven, working the way you wanted it to, but also the way you needed it to. He sees now, that he needed to find happiness in other ways than with Sam and hunting. So when Sam came along, forty years older and wiser and independent, Dean would be able to deal.

“ _There's no point in me spelling this out for you, Dean.”_

Jack's words ring in his ear. Dean smiles. Yeah, he absolutely needed to see this for himself. Needed to claim this corner of heaven as his own, because,  _well, shit_ \- he deserves this. Without guilt, without sacrificing himself for his brother, over and over again. Without almost dying eight days a week.

Screw this codependent bullshit they had going on.

He learned how to have a life without his brother, and of course he'd only realize it now that Sam is here.

Dean knows now, knows who he is without his brother, who he can be if given true free will.

And for fuck's sake, he needs to get home and get Cas out of his work pants and into bed.

Dean chuckles to himself. Cas isn't home, probably, because he would've told Dean if he was gardening. He'll be here soon enough, and for the time being, Dean doesn't need him to be here.

Another deep breath.

The wind tugs at the strands of his hair, tickles the back of his neck.

He looks forward to it all. To having Cas here, later. Maybe they can sit at the lake, for a while. Or in their garden. Maybe Dean could help Cas, weeding and planting flowers and whatever Cas has planned for that greenhouse he put up the other day. He should ask him. Then maybe make out with him in the backseat of the Impala for a bit. That thought makes him smile, too.

The lure dips, but just once. No more movement. Didn't bite.

Dean looks forward to game night, tomorrow at the Roadhouse. Looks forward to Kevin and Ash ribbing each other over a stupid game, looks forward to chat with Jo and Charlie. Maybe he can stop by Bobby's in the afternoon, for a chat and pie and coffee, and maybe hang out for a re-run of Jeopardy. That reminds him, he's never seen Charlie's place. Which, if he remembers her apartment right, should be full of nerdy memorabilia and maybe they have time play a round or two of whatever game she's into, together.

His Mom already told them she expects them all for Sunday dinner this week, and every Sunday from now on.

And those bustling nights at the Roadhouse are giving Dean life. It allows him the right amount of being this charming persona that always worked well on hunts, enjoying life and seeing people happy. It's a job and it's fun. And it's only two nights a week, working with people he loves, seeing people he loves, entertaining and enjoyable. It's been his dream for a reason, and now he has it all.

What he will need to do is talk to Sam. All things considered, they don't have much in common at all, if you take hunting out of the equation. Maybe they can establish sharing breakfast or something on a regular basis – then again, Dean enjoys his and Cas' mornings in the kitchen way too much to want to sacrifice that for hanging out with his brother. Dean coughs, something going down the wrong pipe just thinking about this morning. There's nothing quite like distracting Cas from cooking breakfast like dropping to his knees right there, in front of the stove, and sucking him off.

He did spit this time, for science, and found the experience not preferable to swallowing. It felt weird and unnecessary and at that point it's pointless if he's already got it in his mouth, right?

Yeah, so, sex life, check. No complaints there.

Dean blinks into the sun and wishes he'd had a baseball cap. Of course, one appears on his head right away. Or a cowboy hat? Nah, the cap will do. He knows he doesn't need to check to find a Kansas City Royals emblem on it.

Maybe he could invite his Dad to go fishing some time, he thinks. Maybe he should take Jack, again, sometime, too.

He doesn't keep track of time, dosn't know how long he sits there and stares at the lake, lost in thought.

But as the sun turns hotter and the shadows grow shorter, Dean hears the rustle of stiff fabric over metal, and a clack as a folding chair is dropped beside his. He smiles. The smell is instantly familiar, and when Cas asks, “Do you have a lure for me?” he provides with a silent nod.

There's no need to talk, and for the longest time, they just don't.

Dean reaches for Cas' knee once he feels like it, and Cas covers his hand with his own. Holding hands, fishing, in comfortable silence.

“You know,” Dean starts, finds his throat parched and dry, so he summons his cooler box and pulls out two beers. After handing one to Cas and taking a sip of his own, he starts anew. “You know, one time, I actually talked to Sam about retiring.”

Cas just looks at him, waits for Dean to continue. There's that specific arc to his left eyebrow, one of the many, many expressions Dean has learned to identify as a typical, endearing Cas thing. It only ramps up the affection swelling in his chest.

“I was suggesting the three of us on a beach in Mali.”

“Me too?” Cas asks, seeming surprised.

Dean scowls, shakes his head in surprise. “Of course.”

Cas smiles a secretive little smile and doesn't comment on it. But yes, Dean never could've imagined retiring without his then best friend at his side, and maybe it was one of many hints that there's more to them than just friendship. After all, it was what had him so irked after they had won against Chuck. That Cas wasn't there to see and enjoy any of it.

“Are you hungry?” Cas asks.

“A bit,” Dean ponders. “What did you have in mind?”

Cas smiles, and his fishing rod disappears before he takes Dean's hand.

Suddenly, it's night, and they're in the middle of a huge crossroads in an unfamiliar city.

Dean's head whips around, taking in the many, many people around them, and Cas pulls him towards the curb by his hand. There are billboards in strange letters and neon signs but no, this is not the Times Square, it's different, and when Dean finally registers the people – yeah, they're somewhere in Asia.

“Cas, what is this?” he asks, not letting go of Cas' hand, allowing him to pull him along the sidewalk.

“Tokyo, Shibuya.”

“Okay. Why?”

There's a twitch to Cas' lips. “You said you wanted to do things I'd like to do, too. And I felt like visiting Tokyo at night.”

Dean blinks, still taking in the situation. “There anything to eat around here?”

“Ramen, Yakitori, Sushi, even burgers,” Cas lists. “We could get the fanciest Sashimi in town. Or Okonomiyaki.”

“English, Cas, do you speak it?” Dean asks, amused.

Cas looks up at one of the billboards, the fingers of his hand – the one that's not currently clasped around Dean's – tapping against his chin as he ponders. “We can get burgers anywhere where we usually are. You like omelette, right?”

“Yeah?”

Wordlessly, Cas guides him to a restaurant with hot plates at each table. And then he learns what Okonomiyaki are over a not-so-subtle dinner date for what is technically lunch.

***

“Thanks for the date,” he grins, afterwards, as they head back out onto the street after an hour of talking and laughing and flirting.

“My pleasure,” Cas shrugs, smiling humbly.

Dean wraps his arm around his middle as they stroll down a shopping mile, still taking it all in. “You know I'm not a fancy boy, though, right? You don't have to wine and dine me to get into my pants. I'm easy.”

“Well, maybe I want to, because you deserve nice things,” Cas replies, defiantly so.

Dean leans his head back, grins. “I already have you, so.”

Cas smirks, works his arm around Dean, too, hooking his shoulder under Dean's. “See, you always try to gloss over it, but you're a romantic at heart, Dean.”

“Pffft,” Dean snorts.

“You know it's true,” Cas almost sing-songs, the fucker.

So what if Dean enjoys long walks into the sunset and lunch dates across the globe. So what if he can spend entire mornings looking at Cas' sleeping, relaxed face. So what if maybe Cas isn't completely wrong.

He shrugs, tries to hide his bashfulness by looking away, into the distance. “You're rubbing off on me. Pun not intended.”

“And that's why you love me.”

Dean blushes, feels the heat on his cheeks. They're in the middle of the street, for Christ's sake. People hear the shit they say and probably understand it, too.

And yet, and still.

“'course,” Dean grumbles. “And it was a nice date. So thank you.”

Cas leans in to kiss his cheek.

Goddamnit, this guy will be the end of him, Dean thinks as he wills his too-loud, too-fast-beating heart to pipe the fuck down.

***  
  
Dean does visit Bobby on Tuesday and they don't watch Jeopardy but reminisce over beers all afternoon until Dean heads over to the Roadhouse for game night. Cas accompanies him to Bobby's, mostly drinking with Ellen for shits and giggles, but skips game night afterwards in favor of hanging out at home. He needs his alone time, too.

Wednesday morning, Dean spends entirely in bed with Cas, too lazy to get up, and by the time lunchtime rolls around, they have gotten each other off two times _each_ already, and the shower has been a tempting third time. In the end, Dean sighed and opted to hurry it up and go over to Sam and Eileen for lunch. Cas fertilizes the soil in the greenhouse in the afternoon, and Dean sucks it up, puts on some working clothes, and hauls dung with a wheelbarrow for Cas to shovel under the soil with a pitchfork.

They smell ten feet against a stiff breeze afterwards, but it was worth it. After a shower, the hot tub gets its fair share of use, and Cas gets Dean off right there in the tub with a finger against his crack, rubbing over his hole, while jerking him off at the same time. Dean really needs to try that on him, it feels unfairly amazing.

On Thursday, Dean calls his mom and they talk on the phone for an hour with Cas randomly adding stuff from his side, then hangs out with Charlie in the afternoon, and drags Cas to movie night at the Roadhouse, where Jo kicks them out for making out on the sofa and not paying attention to the movie at all. Not that any Michael Bay movie needed much of their attention span to begin with. Don't get him wrong, he likes Transformers, but the new shit with the humping dogs is exactly that – shit. Give him G1 any time, though. Dean makes them promise to watch 'The Devil's Rejects' next time, because he all needs them to see the ending scene.

Friday sees Cas planting carrot and radish seeds in the greenhouse, tomato and cucumber plants next to long, swirling metal rods that Dean helps carry, and after all that hard labor, they are so tired that nothing more than lazy kissing happens in the shower. They even lie down for a short afternoon nap together, and Cas is the big spoon and Dean is in heaven. No, really.

Cas wouldn't need to do any of it. Resting to counter fatigue, showering, sleeping, and Dean knows he only does it because he likes those rituals with Dean.

He's so blissfully, absolutely happy, he doesn't have words.

***

That evening at the Roadhouse, something feels weird.

Really, really off, and Dean has no idea how to place it.

“Jo,” he taps her shoulder on her way past him. “What's going on?”

“What do you mean?” Jo asks, confused, before understanding dawns on her face. “Wait, do you have _a feeling?”_

Dean hesitates at the emphasis. “Yeah. Nothing like with Sam. Different. But something's up.”

Jo smiles. “I already wondered why we've had so many people here already.”

“So what does it mean? That someone's on their way?” Dean grabs a tumbler glass, pours a finger of whiskey for himself.

“Most likely. And someone popular, too. On those days, people are flocking to the Roadhouse. It's some kind of inner alarm bell going off, consciously or unconsciously,” she nods, den grabs a glass for herself. “Hey, share.”

Dean pours a drink for her, too, and mixes a tequila sunrise for Cas, who overheard their conversation. “Who do you think?” Dean asks him.

“I don't know,” Cas shrugs and accepts the drink with a nod before they toast to each other.

“Not even you?” Jo asks after sipping her whiskey.

Cas shakes his head, “No, not even me. Looks like we'll see soon, though.”

So Dean serves drinks, pours shots and refills beer mugs from the tap, cracks open Red Bull cans and OJ cartons. Keeps busy, keeps bustling around, steals a kiss or two from Cas when he heads out into the room to collect empty glasses or take orders.

Every time the door opens, heads turn, from the bar, from the tables.

The collective expectancy is at an all-time high.

It's not like Dean recognizes all that many people that are waiting for whoever is on their way. In fact, there's a lot of unfamiliar faces in the crowd today.

Dean doesn't look at the door when it opens, once again. What he notices, however, is the utter silence falling over the room at once.

If there wasn't Bad Company playing from the jukebox, you could hear a needle drop.

Dean puts down the bottle of tequila he was about to start.

And since Ellen isn't here, or, well – she's in the back, somewhere, at Bobby's and Rufus' table, probably, but Dean can't see her - so it's Dean's job, right? Especially since Ellen never heard of who just stepped into the Roadhouse.

Oh, he'll gladly take over that job for them.

His heaven just became a bit more complete.

Dean grins, ear to ear, as he rounds the bar and faces the door, opening his arms wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who might that be? :D Please leave your bets in the comments below and as always, did you like the smut? And the mini-date? Oh, that honeymoon phase, it's fun to write them fucking like newlyweds.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: make-out sessions in the hot tub, lots of dirty talk, and Dean has some deep revelations during fishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I didn't answer anyone's guess as to which character will join us now but you'll find out within the first two sentences ;-)  
> I was very happy to see your reactions and your speculations! But I swear I was not ignoring you, I just didn't want to spoil you, so - sorry? 
> 
> I also apologize for the abundance of italics in this chapter. There was just _so_ much _happening_. Enjoy!

Dean is beyond happy to announce this particular arrival, and hollers through the silent Roadhouse, “Well, if it isn't Donna Hanscum!”

“Hey, darlin',” she drawls with the biggest grin, then wraps Dean up in a bone-crushing hug. “Missed ya.”

“You too,” he pats her shoulder as he pulls back. “What would heaven be without the D-Train.”

“Damn right,” Donna grins, all bright eyes and confidence. 

“Please tell me you didn't die on the job,” Dean drops the obvious, turning serious. 

With a scowl, Donna snorts. “Hell no, we had a nice and quiet life, after we retired, Jody and me. One day I just went to sleep and didn't wake up again. After she, you know. She died before me.”

“Jody is dead?” Dean asks, confused. “Okay. She hasn't been here yet, and I kind of thought she would, once... Nevermind. C'mon, let's get a round of drinks for everyone.” He turns towards the bar with and mimes popping a bottle, “Jo, champagne it is!”

And with a roar, the bar is back to life, people welcoming and chatting with Donna, beloved long-standing Sheriff of Stillwater, Minnesota. Which explains a lot of the faces Dean hasn't seen ever, probably because they're not even hunters, but civilians that have never been to the Roadhouse.

Ellen appears behind the bar when Donna greets, then takes a seat next to Cas. “So, you're Donna? Welcome.”

And as Donna and Ellen get familiar, Dean and Jo pour champagne into flute glasses and get them out to the people at the tables and booths, and Dean doesn't even need to get Ash, who has heard it all from the kitchen, where he's flipping burgers today.

The whole Roadhouse shouts a toast to Donna, and from then on, it's the usual buzz with some extra patrons on top. Dean doesn't get to talk too much to her until the night winds down, until there's no more people there who aren't asleep on a table.

Cas waves him over to the other side of the bar. “Why don't you sit down, Dean,” he says. “You've been on your feet all evening.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean brushes it off. He fills three more mugs with beer and takes them over to one of the vacant booths he just cleared out and cleaned. “Ok, this is better,” he sighs as he sinks into the soft seat, taking a big gulp of his beer. Cas sits down next to him, sliding close.

It's one of these moments where Dean feels the lack of of touch over the past hours, deep in his bones, so he puts his arm up on the backrest, around Cas' shoulders. With an inquiring tilt to his head, Cas leans into it, and Dean kisses his temple.

“So, you two fellas, who'd've thought,” Donna smirks at them.

Dean shrugs and nods, smiling. “Yeah, I... have nothing to say in my defense.”

Under the table, Dean nudges his boot against Cas' ankle, hooks his foot around it. Cas doesn't break, only turns towards Dean and winks at him. Or, at least he tries. The guy can't wink to save his life, which is adorable. Instead of kissing him like he wants to and foregoing that because of the awkward and weird angle, Dean rests his hand on Cas' thigh, his go-to for public displays of affection.

“No need, you know. You two, that was, well. Kinda seen it coming. I'm glad you guys figured it out,” Donna grins at them like the Cheshire cat.

Dean is getting better with these situations, with people telling him they knew, all along. He thought he was nervous accepting himself, coming out to his Mom, coming out to Sam. His heart is still lodged in his throat whenever he has to say it out loud, that he and Cas are a thing. And he'll probably have to do it a few more times, telling people that he loves a guy. But it's getting easier, his palms aren't sweaty this time.

Which is when Donna turns serious and muses, “But... what's happenin' now? For me?”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever you want to happen.”

“No, I mean. What about Jody? She should be here, shouldn't she?” and she seems so uneasy and fidgety, Dean reaches across the table to squeeze her hand.

“She's definitely here, she has to be,” Dean reassures her.

“But, where?” Donna frowns. “I need to find her.”

“You'll find her, or she'll find you,” Cas nods, solemn. “Don't worry, that's how Heaven works.”

All of a sudden, it's like scales fall from Dean's eyes. He snaps his fingers. “Oh, wait, of course. I bet she's with her husband and son.”

“Ooh,” Donna nods in understanding, resting her head against the backrest. “Of course.”

Dean frowns, turning towards Cas, “But. How's her son here? Monsters go to purgatory, don't they?”

“He died human. He was resurrected as a zombie, but that doesn't get him into purgatory,” Cas explains.

Dean nods _._

“That makes sense, I guess.” Donna's face falls.

“Donna,” Dean fixes her with a careful look, worried. “What is it?”

“I guess I completely forgot about that. That Jody has a family,” she mumbles. “I just thought, we would, you know. Live here, together, like we did, before she died-- but well, it makes more sense...”

Dean hums in understanding. Of course Jody would be happy to see her family again. With the rest of her family still on earth – Donna and the girls – where else would she be? But what now, indeed. Dean gets it.

“You're her family, too. And you know,” Dean starts. “Wise man once told me – wait, no, we're talking about Jack so, _know-all_ _teenager_ once told me, I guess – Heaven doesn't just work the way you want it to, but also the way you need it to.”

Donna sniffles. “Yeah, but don'tcha get it? You found Cas again, here, Jody is with her husband, Sam's with his wife, and you're all golden. But thing is, I'm one divorce and a nasty break-up down the road of that. There's--” she takes a deep breath. “There's no one. Claire and Kaja are still alive, at least, but they have each other and Alex and Patience hopefully have a lot of time left and--”

Dean's heart breaks for her, it does, but it's not like that and he needs her to understand that. He needs her to see that--

Cas leans forward, catches Donna's eyes, smiles soft and sure of himself. “Jack rebuilt Heaven with me. Let me reassure you, no one is spending eternity alone if they don't want to. Everyone has their place, here, and this is the heaven you deserve, the heaven where everyone is happy.”

“Oh, you betcha,” Dean says, completely unironically, and that makes Donna grin through the first teardrops gathering in the corner of her eyes. “You won't be happy without your family, so you'll have your family.”

“Okay,” she says, collecting herself. “Okay.”

Dean props his chin up on his hand, looks at her for a long time before asks. “You weren't in love with her, were you?”

Donna stares at him, as if the words don't process right in her head. “What? No,” she eventually shakes her head, irritated. “God, no. Jody's straight. Me too, for that matter. Why you asking?”

“You wouldn't believe how many lesbians are popping up around here,” Dean says loud enough for Jo to hear, who cleans the table two down the aisle from theirs.

“Says the switch hitter!” Jo shouts back, no malice in her voice and a grin on her lips.

“Not like you aren't one yourself!” 

Like the first graders they are, Jo blows a raspberry at him and Dean flips her off.

Cas just shoots him  _the eyebrow_ like he will never understand why humans insult each other for fun.

But at least Donna is smiling again. “So, everyone has their place here?”

Dean nods. “Wherever you want it to be, whatever you want it to be. Follow the road, it'll take you there.”

“So, what's your place like?” she asks.

Dean lets Cas talk about their garden and his bee colony including all the intricacies of bee keeping, Dean tells her about their hot tub – not what they've done in it, obviously - and how perfect the lake is to relax and go fishing, and he promises to invite her over for pie soon.

“That'd be lovely.”

“You're always welcome, Donna,” Dean adds. She doesn't look that shaken any more, but he feels like putting emphasis on that.

“Thank you, really. Anywho, I think I'm gonna go home now,” Donna swallows. “Gonna hit the hay. Long day and all.”

Dean nods, empties his beer, and when they all get up, he hugs Donna again, arms firm around her, a reassuring pat to her back. “It's gonna be alright, you'll see. You're gonna be alright.”

Sighing into his shoulder, Donna clutches hard at his back before letting him go. “Sure,” she says to no one in particular, eyes drifting to something behind and between Cas and Dean, where the door of the Roadhouse is. Slowly, a smile, then a grin splits her lips, and what can only be classified as a shriek escapes her.

Then she's off, almost plowing over Dean who was very unprepared for that outburst.

But when he turns around, they find the reason to be pretty self-explanatory.

“Jodes,” Donna sighs again, this time with pure and utter relief, “How are you here?” Her arms are already around Jody, and Jody grins at Dean and Cas over Donna's shoulder.

“Hey, Donna,” and that's it, Dean feels like this is not a moment for them to witness, so he turns to Cas, places a hand on his back and guides him away, out of earshot. And if his hand slips into the back pocket of Cas' jeans, so what.

Of course he earns a 'what do you think you're doing' look from Cas, and grins a gummy grin at him before leaning in and getting that kiss he was longing for earlier. Promptly, Cas gets his hand on Dean's neck and tilts his head the way he wants to, to kiss him deeper.

“Oi, you two!” Jody interrupts them at the halfway point of this turning either indecent or really good or both.

Dean breaks the kiss, and Cas' eyes are still closed when he leans back, lips slack, just beautiful.

However, there's Jody, standing right in front of them, arms crossed, bright grin on her face as she waves her index finger from Dean to Cas and back. “What happened there?”

Wiping spit off his lips with his thumb, Dean winks at her. “What's it look like?”

Jody rolls her eyes, but looks fond. “Ok, lovebirds, get over here. It's good to see ya,” she waves them in, hugs Dean and hugs Cas. “How've you been? Haven't seen you guys in ages.”

“We've been good, real good,” Dean chuckles, more to himself, and just thinking about the past few days in particular – it's a feat not to blush.

“Dean and I have enjoyed our time together thoroughly,” Cas states, as if that needed mentioning or clarification. “And since time moves differently here in heaven, it wasn't more than a few weeks since we saw you last.”

“Really?” Jody says, then turns to Donna, “Wait, how long were you alone after I died?”

“Four years,” Donna answers, avoiding Jody's eyes. “Why?”

“Because I've only been here for a day,” Jody frowns, trying to wrap her head around that timeline.

Dean throws in, explaining, “Heaven works the way you need it to. Your heaven, either one of yours, wouldn't have been complete without the other in it. Poetic, ain't it?”

Cas nudges his side, a reminder not to be an asshole.

But the way Jody tucks her arm around Donna, the way Donna bops her head down on Jody's shoulder, he can't do sarcastic at the moment. Not when it's true, not when it hits so close to home, too.

Never mind that Dean still has his hand in Cas' back pocket and no intention to remove it anytime soon.

“Will you come home with me?” Jody asks. “Sean already went to bed, but I told him all about you. He'd be lucky to have you. And you gotta meet Owen, you're gonna love him.”

Dean tunes them out, focuses on a prayer because he feels like taking Cas' attention away from Jody and Donna. It's the decent thing to do, plus, what he means to say the truth. 'Wanna go home and do dirty things to you.'

“ _Dean,”_ Cas scolds him, but the heated glare it earns him doesn't need words. Dean smirks at him, and for a few long moments, they stare at each other, and there's not another way to call this but eye-fucking. Cas' blue ones swirl with emotion, with want, he licks his lips and Dean is clearing his throat to re-focus.

Jody and Donna are still talking about going home. “Jody, I can't,” Dean hears Donna say.

“It's been your house almost longer than Sean's, there's no reason you shouldn't. You can have your room back, it's empty anyway.”

Donna looks at her, for a long time, frowning, edges of her mouth drawn downwards. “I don't want to intrude. You guys haven't seen each other for so long.”

And again, Dean feels like he's listening in on something not meant for him.

“C'mon, let's say good night to everyone and hopefully, they figured it out by the time we come back around,” he eventually pulls his hand out of Cas' pocket and takes his hand, tugs him down towards the bar, to Ellen and Jo.

“Ladies, we're gonna stop bothering you,” Dean announces to Jo and Ellen.

“Don't worry, we can lock up on our own,” Ellen grins. “Thanks, Dean. Appreciate the help.”

“Sure thing, Ellen. G'night!”

Jo waves at them, “See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Jo!”

And sure enough, Jody and Donna seem to have somewhat agreed on how to do this by the time Cas and Dean return.

“Can I take you home?” Dean offers, keys dangling in hand.

“Yeah, I, we,” Jody stutters, rubs her hand over her face. “I actually drove here, out of habit, so we're good. But thank you, Dean.”

Jody looks at Donna, then, who stares out into the distance once they leave the Roadhouse.

And not for the first time, Dean wonders. “You know,” he starts, boldly, “I asked Donna earlier if she's been in love with you.”

That, to Dean's surprise, gets an eyeroll out of all three of them.

“What?” he asks, bewildered.

“Dean,” is all Cas says, with that skeptical, scolding look that means he's clearly overstepped some boundaries there.

“Told ya it's not like that,” Donna adds.

Jody tilts her head at him and has that lopsided frown going on, lips pinched, and Dean just knows he put his foot in his mouth, right there. “And you know what, Dean, if you'd have either begun projecting your feelings onto others earlier or thought about what it means, you two wouldn't have danced in circles around each other for years.”

The blow is softened by a cheeky smile Jody shoots at Donna, and the two even exchange a high-five behind their backs.

“Alright,” Dean takes it, nods his head side to side. “Fair enough.”

“I remember now why we swore off men,” Donna mock-scowls, then winks at Jody.

“For good reason,” Jody adds, nonplussed, then throws her arm around Donna's shoulders. “Let's go home.”

“Yeah, let's go home, babe.”

Dean blinks, then mumbles under his breath, “You gotta be kidding me.”

Donna winks at him, over her shoulder, as they walk towards Jody's Dodge Charger.

“Despite the fact that they are not dating, they are acting like a couple,” Cas states, dry as ever, when Jody puts the car into gear and waves at them before heading home.

“Right? But _I'm_ projecting, thanks, Jody,” Dean rolls his eyes, sarcastically. 

For a few moments, they look after the retreating rear lights as they vanish down the road.

“Well, you are,” Cas says.

“It's called a gaydar, Cas.”

A teasing chuckle. “Then yours is clearly malfunctioning, since you didn't recognize my feelings for you for years, either.”

Dean shakes his head. “I didn't recognize my _own_ feelings for you for years.”

They share a look, and Dean lets his smile become sultry and his eyelids drop to half-mast. “Take ya home, babe?”

“I thought we agreed on no terms of endearment?” Cas asks, squinting, then adds, slowly, “Darling?”

“I think they're alright, from time to time, don't you think, huggybear?”

Cas hesitates, still squinting at him, eyes blazing, “You've called me that before.”

Dean grins, wide and obnoxious.

Cas rolls his eyes, shakes his head, like he can't believe that this is the human that his affections fell on.

***  
  
“Hey, Cas,” Dean asks Cas, later that night, when they are naked and under the covers after a shower together that involved entirely too much touching and a surprising lack of orgasms. “How does this line up? Sam's been here for a few days but Jody is older than both of us. Not much, but older.”

“Women generally have a higher life expectancy,” Cas explains.

“Yeah, but, they must've been almost 90? Or over 90, even. Gotta ask them.”

“Time moves differently,” Cas says, fingers trailing through Dean's hair, and Dean leans into the touch.

“I s'pose.” 

“Donna is rubbing off on you,” Cas notes, not without amusement.

“Not as much as you do,” Dean chuckles, feeling fuzzy around the edges as he kisses Cas' collarbone.

Cas hums, a low vibration in his chest. “Speaking of,” he starts, “Would you be interested in me waking you up with oral sex tomorrow?”

Yeah, so Dean's mind almost crumbles at the sheer thought. “Yes?” he chokes out, “Why you asking?”

With a smirk playing around the edges of his lips, Cas explains, “Obviously, because I can't ask for your consent if you're asleep.”

“So this is about somnophilia?”

Cas blinks at him, one, two, three times, in confusion, before the penny drops. “No. This is about me wanting to suck your dick.”

Oh, how Dean loves it when he gets Cas to talk dirty. He nibbles at Cas' neck. “No objections,” he clarifies. “Though I can't guarantee that I won't come the second I wake up.”

“That's fine,” and his fingers are working again, carding paths through Dean's hair, from his nape to the crown of his head, and back down.

Dean closes his eyes, wallows in the feeling of Cas' fingers drawing circles behind his ear. It makes him wonder, what Cas' mouth around him will feel like. But he'll find out soon enough, anyway.

“G'night, Cas,” Dean mumbles, eyelids drooping, against Cas' chest.

“Sleep well, Dean,” Cas answers, just as quiet, with a kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” he adds, a moment later.

“Love ya, too, Cas.” His voice is rough, but the sentiment is heartfelt. Rarely in his life has Dean ever felt this accepted, this loved, with all his baggage, with all his problems. Rarely has he loved someone back this fiercely.

Dean sighs and lets his mind drift off, drift into sweet fantasies and calming thoughts to recharge his batteries so he's well rested if Cas really does wake him up with a blowjob. And he knows Cas doesn't just say these things, and that makes Dean smile.

Cas has his faults and his baggage, too, he's prone to not telling him shit when he's being a protective asshole, which has been all they've ever fought about. Dean sees that now. But when Cas promises things and when he tells Dean stuff, it's the truth, even though he's learned that the hard way, too.

They both learned.

Communication is key.

Dean takes a deep breath. Smells salt and sweat and warmth and fresh grass. Noses against Cas' neck, draws patterns across his skin with his lips, kisses his pulse point. Forces himself to relax, to lay down, to settle.

It's _hard_. And Cas is so cuddly and soft, but also – Dean rubs his hand down his back over his hipbones, to his stomach, to his back, to his ass – fucking hot. Muscles in all the right places. Hair where Dean never thought he'd find it attractive, but now he can't get over how there's no middle ground, here. There's no pretending about smooth skin almost being soft like a woman's, no, there's no curves to this body next to his, there's stubble around the lips that kiss him, daily. There's no denying that he loves a man.

Who will blow him tomorrow. Or today, technically speaking.

Those full, pink lips, curling around his dick. That long, dexterous tongue around the head of it, trailing circles, licking down the length of it, blue eyes fixed on him.

_Shit._

Dean reaches up, pulls Cas in by his neck for a kiss entirely meant to transport all of this.

“Dean?” Cas asks, gasping for air.

“Now I can't sleep,” Dean grumbles. “And--” He's too lazy to explain and it's kind of obvious, anyway, so he puts one leg between Cas' and rubs his hard cock against Cas' thigh.

“Ah,” Cas says. There's a smile, somewhere, in that little noise, but also a challenge. “Because of what I said?”

“Can't stop thinking about it,” Dean admits, breathless, grinning as he trails his hand over Cas' nipple and pinches one of them. “You ass.”

He's so put out on purpose, it's almost cute. “Why am I an ass now?”

“Putting that bug in my ear.”

“I was _asking_ for consent.”

“Like I wouldn't consent to you giving me a B.J.,” Dean wiggles his eyebrows.

Cas shakes his head. “Not the point. And you know that.”

“Okay, fine, yes,” Dean rolls his eyes, Cas can't see it anyway in the dim light of their bedroom. “But what are we doing about this now?” He grumbles, tries to take the edge off by creating more pressure with his hips, tries to align their cocks so he can get a bit of friction from Cas', too. In the motion, Dean rolls almost entirely on top of him to gain leverage, and Cas lets him.

Humming against his lips, Cas pulls him down to gain more access to his mouth. There's that long, dexterous tongue in his mouth and Dean groans. To think that he once told Cas to go easy on the tongue action makes him laugh, inwardly, because the guy has figured out how to make it so good that Dean is a moaning mess now, with _just_ Cas' tongue in his mouth.

“I have an idea,” Cas states, and that's all the warning Dean gets before Cas props up his free leg and flips them over.

Dean's head drops into the pillows, feeling almost dizzy because – well, it's not the first time Cas manhandles him like he's not a grown-ass man of six foot one and 180 pounds. And it's not the first time Dean finds himself acutely and very aroused at that display of power.

There are hands at both sides of his head, fingers buried in his hair, lips on his, insistent, taking, not giving him a pause to breathe or collect himself. It's all just sensation after relentless sensation, Cas sucking at his bottom lip, prying his lips open because he can, trading open-mouthed, needy kisses but ignoring Dean's attempt at slipping some tongue in there completely. Cas is in complete control and Dean just takes it, the rush of it roaring in his ears. The hands on his head, the arms next to his shoulders and the full weight of Cas on top of him has him in place without force, but with nowhere to go.

Cas has him restrained, effectively, and Dean's dick twitches at the realization.

_Huh._

The things he learns about himself since Cas shares his bed.

His hands clutch at Cas' elbows, showing him exactly that he wants to keep him, right here, as he kisses back with all he has to offer. All the love, all the need, all the silent pleas.

Cas' hips don't roll down on him and Dean wants to push up, get that sweet friction against his cock like they've done almost every morning now, one way or another, as foreplay or the main act. They worked out their rhythm, how to angle their hips, and it's oh, so good when they're in sync, but Cas doesn't give him that.

“Nu-uh,” he grins against Dean's mouth.

A frustrated moan escapes him.

But then, Cas works his way down his body, kisses his jaw, buries his face in his neck, sucks at his collarbone, kisses down his sternum, dips his tongue into Dean's navel.

And Dean knows exactly what he's up to, he _knows,_ but when it happens, and Cas' blue, blue eyes with that electric spark that they only ever get during sex, when they look up at him, Dean can't help it.

“Fuck,” he groans, lets his eyes fall shut because if he watches this, he's going to come the second Cas--

He feels it, slick, wet heat engulfing his dick, fingers circling the base of it. He feels it when Cas sucks, tentatively, testing it out, how it works, how it feels with a cock stretching his jaw, with _Dean's_ cock stretching his jaw. He feels it, when Cas can't take him any further and it's not enough, but they'll get there, hell, Cas is very much average and Dean can barely take him but they'll get there--

Dean keeps his eyes pressed shut, groans against the back of his hand, slapping it onto his mouth.

Cas pops off his cock, then, cold air on spit-slick skin making Dean look down. “Don't keep your voice down, I want to hear you,” Cas says, and then he sinks back down on Dean and _of course_ this time, Dean forgets to look away.

He's transfixed by the look of Cas taking him into his mouth, greedy, lips closing around him, cheeks hallowing, and what he lacks in technique he makes up for with enthusiasm. So what if it's a bit too wet and a bit too fast and – oh--

“Cas, watch the teeth there,” Dean chuckles, abruptly getting that breather he so desperately needed.

“Sorry,” Cas gasps, laps at the tip, trails circles around it, works Dean's foreskin over the head again and again, with sure, calm strokes of his big palm. It's absurd, how good this feels, how no women, however skilled, ever managed to make him feel this raw, this exposed, this susceptible.

Cas does what Dean likes to do to him, then, and of course he did that because he likes it so – it really comes full circle, here, when Cas puts his lips, slack, around the head of his dick to tease him, loose touch so fleeting, so delicate and yet making pleasure shoot through Dean's veins at every feather-light touch of his lips.

There's that feeling again, of not being able to breathe, in all the best ways. Dean reaches down, grabs at Cas' shoulders, at his neck, not guiding or holding, just placing them there.

Maybe they'll get there, one day, and the thought makes his dick twitch in Cas' mouth. The thought of being held in place as _Cas_ fucks _his_ mouth. And isn't that ironic. They need to try that, they definitely do, and while he's not much on the demanding, toppy-bastard side, he knows Cas could, Cas would, and _shit,_ he'd enjoy it.

Cas pulls off, leans down, eyes connecting with Dean's as he licks at the base, at coarse blonde hair, and eases his fingers from their hold around the shaft. Fingertips trail lower as Cas' tongue laps upwards, all the way to the top, before he closes his lips around him again, bops down once, twice.

His fingers have learned all about how Dean likes his balls handled, at this point, and he puts this knowledge to good use. Cradles, tugs, rolls them in his palm.

Dean is two seconds away from losing his mind. Grappling at Cas, his hair, his shoulders, the sheets, pressing his shoulders into the mattress, flexing his thighs just to keep still.

“ _Cas,”_ he moans when he realizes that he's long past the point where resistance wouldn't be futile, and even though he would love to enjoy the magic of this first time, he's not going to last. “I'm gonna come--”

Cas nods around his dick, replaces his mouth with the hand that is not currently on Dean's balls, and with pleasure building low in his gut, Dean's mind focused on those two points of stimulation, Dean tries one last time to memorize this. Cas, sitting between his spread legs, on his heels, watching him with fond but serious baby blues, lips shiny with spit and reddened from the friction of his cock, pushing in and out. And the sex hair on him is just glorious.

Dean gives up, lets himself drift, no, blow right past the edge and comes with a groan, and at least he manages to look at Cas all through it. The pinched wrinkles around his eyes smooth out with laugh lines when he starts to grin, and Dean's heart is full, so full.

He almost doesn't notice the heavy drops of come all over his chest, and wouldn't have if Cas wouldn't – like he often does – trace patterns into it with his fingers. _What a dork,_ Dean thinks. But _his_ dork nonetheless.

Cas has a dopey grin on his face, and Dean knows he probably looks no better himself, so he pulls Cas upwards, kisses his own taste off of his lips.

Cas is hard against Dean's hip, and that's just unfair, isn't it.

“Hey,” Dean says, wraps his arms around Cas' middle and pushes and prods until he has Cas atop of him, straddling his torso. Then he reaches for a pillow to prop up his head and urges Cas to come closer.

Cas only looks increasingly confused with every instruction Dean gives.

“Knees next to my shoulders,” Dean guides, then reaches under Cas' thighs, runs his hands up the expanse of them, to Cas' crotch but not quite, then around to his ass, nudging him forward.

It's not that different from a chick sitting on his face, now is it? He's going to rock this.

“What...” Cas starts.

Dean rolls his eyes and winks at him. “Your dick, my mouth, now,” he demands, knows how bratty he sounds.

It seems to work for Cas, though, who pushes his cock down and guides it between Dean's lips. Dean slides lower against the pillow to adjust the angle, but he has a minimized range of movement here, and he can't talk.

Urging Cas on with both hands against his ass, pushing him forward, he prays. 'Cas. Move. But be careful.'

“I will,” Cas breathes out in a rush, and there's a twitch against Dean's gums. 

When Cas starts to move, it's only short, jerky motions, but there's not much more Dean can take – and it does seem like there's not much more Cas needs. His breathing turns into short, quick huffs in no time, and Dean has another idea.

He trails his fingertips closer to Cas' crack, dips his index finger low against it. 'May I?' he asks, tries to put that inflection of cheekiness into it.

“Yes,” Cas moans, head dropping onto his chest, hands curling around the headboard, knuckles white. “Do it, Dean, please,” and he's begging at this point, which pushes all kinds of buttons for Dean.

So Dean rubs over his rim a few times, lets him enjoy that sweet sensation he loves so much when Cas does it to him, doesn't dip his finger into him – no lube, no fun – but prods the pad of his finger against it at every other thrust of Cas' hips, just for a bit of pressure.

Dean doesn't expect it when Cas suddenly pulls back.

He doesn't expect his hands to be yanked away, until they grapple for purchase at Cas' thighs.

He's also completely unprepared for getting a load right into his face. And up his nose, and into his right eye.

“Sorry,” Cas pants, belatedly, chest heaving. “I didn't mean to, I wanted to warn you, but--”

Dean chuckles and waves him off. With one eye open, he blinks up at Cas. “Don't worry. Do we have something to wipe this off?” he asks, cum dripping from his lips into his mouth as he speaks. He needs to clean his nose asap, because it feels clogged and weird. Cas produces a piece of cloth from somewhere, Dean doesn't care what it is, and he doesn't hesitate to wipe his face down and blow his nose and yes, that's better.

Then he makes the mistake of opening his right eye.

“Ouch! Fuck,” he grumbles, rubbing at it. “That burns. No one ever tells you that shit burns.”

“It does?” Cas looks crestfallen, his tone guilty, as he repeats, “Sorry.”

Dean looks at him, chest still rising and falling quicker than normal, still looking like sex incarnate, and here he sits with spunk in his eye and up his nose and-- he starts to laugh, deep from his belly, happy and so flabbergasted at the ridiculousness of it all.

Reflexively, Cas grabs his shoulder to steady them both and falls into laughter, too.

“It's all good,” Dean wheezes around the laughing fit, then realizes where Cas' hand is. “Oh,” he says, sobering.

“What is it?” Cas asks.

“That's... where your hand print was, once,” Dean explains. _Where your bloody handprint was, on my jacket, before the Empty took you, too._ But he doesn't want to mention that, not now.

“I healed it, accidentally, though I thought you wouldn't mind that it was gone.”

Dean hums. “Come to think of it, I did mind. Do mind.”

Cas pauses. “You know what it meant, right?”

“That you 'laid claim' to my soul in hell?” Dean exaggerates, sounding purposefully condescending, just a bit - but inside, his heart does a little skip. _Wait... what._ Cas nods, at the same time Dean already bursts out. “Wait. You. Called dibs on me in hell?”

Cas shrugs, smiles, then repeats Dean's words to him. “I have nothing to say in my defense.”

Dean laughs some more. “Jeez, I've been blind. You too, for the record.”

“So we are told,” Cas nods again, joy still laced with his every word. “But can you imagine, after fighting through hell alongside my brothers and sisters, seeing your soul from afar, shining so bright and beautiful? All I wanted was to get you out of there. Seeing as this was the last order from Heaven that I wholeheartedly agreed with, it seems only fitting that I was a bit... overenthusiastic.”

He looks almost shy, admitting it. Which, _cute._

Dean huffs, finding himself once again at the point where he called a millennia-old celestial wavelength of intent cute _._ What is his life, he thinks, but smiles and asks, “Well, can I have it back?”

Cas looks up as if he can't believe Dean just asked for that. When Dean nods once again, Cas reaches out to squeeze Dean's left hand before trailing his hand up to his shoulder, wrapping his fingers around it, one after the other. The look in his eyes is pure and utter wonder, and affection, and it makes Dean's stomach spin.

There's a short, stinging pain shooting through Dean, but right when he starts to breathe through it, the pain is already gone.

“It's going to be a bit sensitive for a while,” Cas notes, inspecting the reddened, rising pebbles forming on Dean's skin. “You can, of course, advance the healing process.”

Dean considers it for all of .2 seconds. “I don't think I want to.”

As they finish cleaning up and lie back down, the sun just peeking through the blinders, Dean connects another detail. “So, wasn't Michael pissed you claimed his sword?”

There's a smirk playing around on Cas' lips. “A bit. I didn't particularly care.”

Dean chuckles.

“Neither of us could've known that you'd be _my_ righteous man all along. It just happened to be the case.”

Dean's insides do something unspeakable, and he is too overwhelmed to do anything more than pull Cas into a hug and not let go, ever again.

And with his head against Cas' chest, he finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who ordered plot and schmaltz with a side of porn and also fluff because there you go. Look forward to the next chapter, I'll have so much fun writing that, and not because of smut reasons (ok, maybe smut reasons too, but I don't even know yet - I'm just excited because shenanigans incoming!).
> 
> I swear, every time I think I can finally give you an accurate chapter counter and put a mental lid on this, I remember the ten other things I wanted to have in this fic.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Donna makes a return, Jody is already waiting for her, and Cas renews his claim on Dean by putting his hand print back where it belongs, on Dean's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a look at the chapter counter. And the word count. Holy shit, this was not what I was expecting.

Cas still blows him in the morning, sunlight dipping his skin into a golden glow, making his hair glimmer at the tips and his eyes shine in a pale blue. Dean doesn't let him finish him off like that, because he wants him in his arms, wants to kiss him when they both come, so they trade handjobs, lying on their side, facing each other. When he arches into Cas' touch, spilling all over his hand, his sole focus is the feeling of Cas' lips on his, gentle, yet firm, and there are no words needed for the feelings between them.

Afterwards, Dean can't even get up, he's that boneless and blissed-out and Cas' smile is something surreal, something so truly angelic that it makes Dean ache inside, in all the best ways.

Cas eventually lures him out of bed with coffee.

They spend their day like any other, have breakfast on the porch, go to Bobby's for lunch and a chat.

In the afternoon, Dean finds Cas staring into the wall of their house instead of at his beehive that he was supposed to tend to.

“Cas?” Dean shouts over the expanse of their garden. He doesn't dare come too close to the hive, not even covered in protection equipment. Not that there's any danger, not really. This is heaven. But there's bad memories with bugs. “Hey, Cas!”

Cas doesn't react.

So Dean prays. 'I pray to Castiel to turn his cute ass around and acknowledge his boyfriend being worried about him.'

It takes him a moment, but Cas does get up from his crouch and turns to him, then steps away from the hive and comes over to where Dean sits on the porch steps.

“What's up? You've been staring for the past ten minutes or so,” Dean inquires.

“Just thinking,” Cas says, pulling off his gloves. He doesn't technically need protective equipment, plus his bees love him – or so he says – but it's for sanitary reasons. He says.

Dean scowls. “What about?”

Cas waves him off. “Still sorting through it.”

“Something about us?”

With a head shake that is mostly bewilderment, Cas says, “No, of course not. We're fine, obviously.”

“Well, if you need an echo chamber--”

“I know, but I think... I'll need to visit someone. That should be the best course of action. Or I could-- hm.”

Dean blinks at him. Waves his hand, palm up, in the universal gesture of 'what?'.

“I'll be back later, Dean,” putting his gloves onto the porch railing, patting them once, Cas makes a decision. Then he kisses Dean on the lips as a matter of goodbye, and when Dean opens his eyes again, he's gone with a flutter of wings.

Dean huffs. “Okay. Stay safe, Cas.” He knows Cas will hear him. He also knows it's pointless, since they're in heaven, and everything is safe. He knows it's only a sentiment.

But he knows exactly what Cas looks like, rolling his eyes, and that mental image makes it all worth it. Dean smirks to himself.

He spends the rest of the afternoon lazing around their house, calls his Mom to check in with her for dinner tomorrow, promises to bring pie. He calls Sam, too, invites him to come to the Roadhouse tonight, to 'live a little'. Calls with Sam are still a bit stilted, strange. They are used to talking about the necessary points only - get in, say what you have to say, get out, hang up without saying goodbye.

Anyway, Sam agrees, so there's that.

When Dean arrives at the Roadhouse later that evening, a familiar trench coat is sitting at the bar already, with a beer in hand. Since it's a Saturday, there are quite a lot of people pouring in, and Jo is already dancing on her feet, sighing in relief when she spots Dean.

Dean gets it.

So he doesn't waste time, walks up to the bar, hooks his arm around Cas' middle on his way past and places a kiss on his neck. “Hey, fancy meeting you here,” he winks at Cas' surprised look, blue eyes blown wide, and follows the stupid pick-up line up with another kiss to Cas' cheek. “Sorry, sweetheart, gotta hustle.”

And with that, he's off and on his way around the bar to Jo, who throws his apron over to him.

Unfortunately, there's not much time to talk to Cas, so Dean is left in the dark as to whom he visited and why. If it wasn't so busy already, he'd go nuts from curiosity, but around this time, people also come here to eat. So Dean splits his time between helping Jo at the bar and flipping burgers and stirring Chili con carne with Ash in the kitchen.

Keeping busy feels really, really good. Bustling about, serving plates, collecting empty bottles, cutting limes for tequila shots, Dean is in his element.

Sam comes and slides up to Bobby and Rufus in their regular booth and Dean takes all his courage and serves him a vegan burger.

“Is it, really? Dean, I _swear,”_ Sam says. “If this is meat--”

“Sam,” and ok, so maybe he has read up on the ethics of veganism in a weak moment or something and no, he wouldn't serve meat as a prank. Not anymore. “I wouldn't, ok. I mean, it's an offense and a sin to call this thing a burger, with that soy patty thing and whatever the yellow stuff's supposed to be, but it's vegan.” He shudders, completely over the top.

Sam starts to smile, slowly, as he picks up the burger. “Tell Ash thank you for reigning you in.”

“Truly, there's not much more the meatman could take,” Dean reassures him, clutches his heart like the drama queen he can be.

Sam snorts. “You should google that some time.”

Thing is, Dean always forgets to. “So, anyway, I hope you don't want fries with that burger.”

“You do know that fries are typically vegan?”

Dean shrugs, “I do now,” and storms off before he can embarrass himself any further.

Cas is nursing his favorite fruity cocktail and Dean is surprised that it isn't gone yet, after ten minutes since Jo put it down in front of him. Whatever kept him so occupied that afternoon seemed to still affect him, and Dean wonders.

'You okay, Cas?' Dean prays, but he can't check for a reaction. The Roadhouse is too loud, he's back behind the bar, taking orders, and only sees from the corner of his eyes that Cas is watching him.

He always does.

Dean looks him square in the eyes and throws him a kissy face. Cas averts his eyes and Dean feels a pang of something in his chest. Something is off. Or wrong.

“Gross,” Jo sing-songs, pushing past him behind his back.

Dean is so not in the mood, so he ignores her.

When the first rush winds down around an hour later and even the late-night snackers are sufficiently taken care of, Dean stops to take the first deep breath in what must've been two or three hours straight.

Cas waves at him. “Hey, um, Dean.”

“Yeah,” he looks up, and Cas' face is contorted with emotions in a way he has rarely seen before. There's worry and confusion and some underlying thing that makes Dean pause. “What is it? Wait, hold up,” he adds, rounds the bar to get over to Cas' side. If he's troubled, that's not good news and of course Dean feels obligated to comfort him. He slides onto the bar stool next to him, grabs his glass of water from over the counter.

Cas still looks at him strange, lips not quite closed, and so, so plush, so kissable.

Dean pats his knee, squeezes it. Leans his other elbow on the counter and rests his chin on it. “So, what's up? That... visit you flew off to, didn't it go so well?”

After a long gaze at him, Cas blinks, then huffs out a laugh. “Not exactly, but Dean, I...” he mumbles as his lips twitch into a smile, and he seems almost... embarrassed.

Dean can count the times that Cas felt embarrassed and showed it on one hand. He's so tense, too, jumpy almost.

“Dude, you're weird. What happened? C'mon, spill it.” A plan hits him, and he leans in quickly, whispers into Cas' ear with a little grin. “Or, do you need to blow off some steam first, you know, we could zap into the bathroom real quick.” Okay, so that was mostly to get him to loosen up, but Dean wouldn't exactly be mad if Cas took him up on the offer.

Cas gulps and replies way too quick, voice an octave or two higher than usual, “No! No, I mean. That's not it. Dean,” and the way his name rolls of Cas' lips, Dean is very confused, that is not-- “I'm not your boyfriend.”

“What?” Dean frowns, eyes him up and down. That's Cas, from his tousled hair and the crooked tie to the baggy trench coat. What the hell is going on?

“It's me, Jimmy.”

Jimmy... “Novak?” Dean scoffs, and immediately removes his very inappropriately placed hand from Jimmy's thigh.

“Um. Yes.”

“I am so sorry,” Dean wheezes out, feels heat spread on his face, up to his ears. “I did not expect you to be here.”

“What, in heaven?” Jimmy asks, suspicious, eyes squinting – this time, just like Cas. These similarities between the two are uncanny and it's making Dean uneasy.

“No, I mean, I expected you to be here, but dude, not in our heaven, we didn't exactly part friends,” he chuckles, tries to lighten the mood. He knows Jimmy Novak hates them. Hates Cas for what he did to his family, for what he did to him. Chained to a comet and all that. And Dean knows now, what it means to ride shotgun with an angel. Thank _fuck_ Jimmy wasn't around after that first resurrection of many.

For a second, he has to backtrack. When was that, the first time Cas died? Oh, yeah, that one time, at Chuck's place – that deceiving, conning genius, hiding as a prophet. _'Yeah, well, we're making it up as we go.'_ That one. Where Chuck had Jimmy's molar in his hair afterwards.

Still, he's glad Jimmy wasn't around for the actual, averted apocalypse, for the Leviathans, for Lucifer walking the earth, for all the shit hitting the fan - and also frankly, for everything that happened between Dean and Cas.

Dean takes him in, head to toe, and he feels wrong. He feels wrong knowing that Jimmy has a mole above his right nipple. Feels wrong knowing what his dick looks like, what it feels like filling his mouth. Feels wrong to know what his come tastes like.

Ok, but maybe Cas has his own taste? Though Dean's pretty sure that topic wouldn't be covered by any books on angel lore.

He can only imagine the chapter title. 'Angels inhabiting a vessel and the consequential effects on sperm qualities and taste of bodily fluids'.

Though he does imagine Sam's face stumbling upon that particular gem and he almost breaks into a giggle. However, this is so not the time, so he doesn't.

“Yeah, well. I'm here. Not that I wanted to. Castiel came to see me, this afternoon. I was just minding my own business, having tea with my wife--” Jimmy sighs. “When all of a sudden he popped up, the last person I ever wanted to see again.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He didn't tell you?”

“No?” Dean says.

“But, you're, like. What are you two, exactly?”

Dean ducks his head, drinks because his throat feels dry. “In a relationship.”

Jimmy blinks at him. “Do I want to know how that happened?”

“Ah, yes, you left the building before... everything, pretty much,” Dean shrugs. “How much do you actually remember?” 

Jimmy tilts his head side-to-side, pondering. “I do remember him rebelling for you.”

“Yeah, now take it from there, he didn't change all that much,” Dean can't help but chuckle, more to himself.

That's when a voice interrupts them, a very familiar one, and a hand lands on Dean's shoulder with a comfortable, familiar weight. “I came to see you because of Claire,” Cas' deep, rumbling purr hits Dean's ears, and he instinctively unwinds, tension seeping from him as he leans into the touch. “Why did you run, after that?”

“Listen, I don't--” Jimmy can't look at them. “My wife told me, what happened to her, after I... after you happened, Castiel. That Claire went into the foster care system. I've heard enough about that to know what she must've gone through and I'm not sure who my daughter, my sweet baby girl, will be when I see her again. And it scares me, to be honest.”

Dean can't help but smile at him, a bit lopsided. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have been able to relate. Before Jack. But he gets it now. “She grew up to be one hell of a fine woman, though we – well, Jody, rather – really had our hands full. She became a hunter, on her own accord. Met the love of her life, actually, during hunting. You'll be proud of her.”

“And that's why,” Cas finishes with a nod. “We expect her to show up here, whenever she arrives. Hence why I came to see you, because her life, her heaven will inevitably connect yours with ours, yet you are missing some vital information about us and her and what happened.”

“Yeah, and I'm not sure I want to know,” Jimmy replies. He seems lost in thought, staring a hole into the floor.

“Do you want to be part of your daughter's heaven?” Cas asks, cool as you please.

“Of course,” Jimmy sighs, studies his hands, something gold shining in the warm light of the bulb above the bar.

Dean never noticed, but of course Jimmy wears a wedding band - Cas doesn't. He's also an idiot, because Cas went out wearing jeans and his red and black checkered shirt, not his trench coat.

Cas interrupts his thoughts. “And if you weren't curious, Jimmy, you wouldn't even have ended up here. I searched everywhere for you for quite a while.”

Dean wraps his arm around him in a wordless form of support. In a way of telling him that he's here, at Cas' side.

The dirty part of his brain – very unhelpfully – provides the info that he could have sex with twins now, given enough effort to-- yeah, no. The thought is immediately dismissed because Jimmy is one of the most heterosexual dudes Dean has ever met, and that includes Sam _and_ his hair. He looks frozen in place, faced with Cas and Dean and their everything-but-heterosexual thing. It must be weird, though, what with Cas looking exactly like him, so, fair enough.

Sam walks up behind Jimmy, then, saying, “So I wondered what's going on here.”

“He's here, too?” Jimmy downright _shrieks,_ taken by surprise for the third time today. And what a day, Dean thinks, first meeting your long-lost twin, not having missed him at all. Then being kissed and felt up by a stranger. And now, a giant moose appearing behind your back.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam answers, smiles a placating smile at him. “How are you, Jimmy? Come, have a drink with us. Jody's here, too.”

And somehow, like that, the ice is broken. Sam escorts Jimmy to the booth with Bobby and Jody eyeing Jimmy up and down and Dean gets a round of drinks and shots for all of them.

Jo waves him off when he tries to get back to work. “Go,” she mouths, shooing him towards the booth.

By the time Dean sits down between Cas and Eileen, Sam is in the middle of rehashing the apocalypse, his soulless return, Eve and purgatory.

“This is nuts,” Jimmy says, shaking his head.

But where it becomes fun is when they tell him about God.

“You met... God?”

“Yes,” Cas answers. “He has a beard. Also you've met him, too.”

“We defeated him and now Jack is the new god,” Dean pipes up.

“ _What?”_ Jimmy exclaims, and that's pretty much the setup of how they spend the rest of the night.

***  
  
“Oh my god, I totally felt up Jimmy,” Dean groans, covering his eyes with the back of his hand.

“And?” Cas asks, playing with the fingers of Dean's other hand, which is resting on his stomach. “You thought he was me.”

He knows Cas isn't jealous. Sighing nonetheless, he replies, “Still. It's just... embarrassing, is all.”

From under his hand, Dean watches as  _something_ gleams in Cas' eyes. “Do I need to take your mind off things?”

Dean hums, entwines his fingers with Cas'. “What did you have in mind?”

Cas zaps them.

The sudden change of scenery is completely lost on Dean, since his eyes are blinded by the sudden onslaught of sunlight. It takes him a moment or three to focus, and his instinctive need for sunglasses is immediately met.

Dean breathes, looks around. Feels sun blazing warm on his skin and sand running between his toes. “What's this? Where are we?”

“What does it look like?” Cas asks back, amused, just to be a little shit.

Dean laughs as he takes in his get-up of a tacky speedo that hides  _nothing_ and the matching Hawaiian shirts they're wearing. He takes in the small table with the umbrella drinks waiting for them and a huge parasol above their heads. There's two cots, side by side, and Cas sits at the edge of the one opposite of him. 

“Is this what you imagined, for our retirement?” Cas asks, leaning forward, unbuttoned shirt falling open, revealing so much gloriously naked skin and – yep, bathing slip there, too. And still, with Ray Ban aviators on his nose, Cas looks mouth-watering.

Dean grins. “Sam's missing.” And the hula girls, though Dean is pretty sure he won't particularly miss them. He looks at Cas, who seems almost naked in less than three layers outside of their bedroom. “But he'd only tell us we're gross and keep us from fucking everywhere, so. Might get him later.”

That gets a pearly laugh out of Cas, deep from his chest, and he nods in agreement.

Sitting up, Dean gets a knee onto Cas' cot, leans over to trail his hand from Cas' lucky trail up over his stomach. He knows he's grinning, but he can't help it. Sixpack, pecs, collarbone, neck, and Dean leans down to taste, to kiss Cas for what it's worth, pulls his lips apart with his own.

“The glasses look damn hot on you,” he admits, voice rough, bathing briefs tenting already.

A check of their surroundings only reveals miles and miles of white sand, the only sound being the waves crashing onto shore, not another soul in sight.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean chokes out a laugh. “This is perfect.” 

They fall all over themselves, kissing on the cot, until that culminates in exchanging quick and dirty hand jobs right there. Afterwards, they go swimming in the ocean to cool off, although it ends up as a splashing match until Dean tackles Cas in shallow water and they return to kissing each other stupid.

Then there's baking in the sun without ever needing to worry about skin cancer, sun block or sun burn. Cas reads a book and Dean enjoys doing exactly nothing but napping. Once the sun sets, they head out for a small shack at the edges of the coconut trees lining the beach, grab something to eat. They drink too many cocktails and stumble into a private wooden cottage, a bungalow right at the beach, to go to sleep. A soft, warm breeze blows through the open windows and door, looking out at the ocean, the waves illuminated by a full moon and stars that pale next to it. Without a care in the world, they make out, drunken kisses too wet, too fast, teeth snatching at each other's lips, hands too eager on each other, and yet, so, so perfect.

After a bit of rutting against each other, they fall asleep in the middle of it, as if they had been up for 72 hours or something.

The next morning, Dean finds a message from Sam on his phone.

_ Dude, you missed Sunday dinner. Everything alright? _

Dean snaps a selfie and sends it back with a thumbs-up emoticon. Not that he cares, not that their parents would care. No responsibilities, here.

“Who is it?” Cas mumbles, still sleepy, against Dean's shoulder, where he's pressed up against him in the double hammock they're resting in. 

“Sam. Because we completely forgot about my parents and left Sam and Eileen to fend through dinner on their own.”

Without a comment, Cas hums and burrows closer.

“I sent him a picture of us.”

“Can I see?”

And as he lifts his shades to take in the picture, Dean lounging with a cocktail in his hand, Cas against him, the ocean in the background, Cas smirks. “Captures this quite well.”

“I don't think there's a single bad shot to be made, here, it's that perfect,” Dean muses and puts his phone away to take a sip from his drink.

Cas' hand is low on his abdomen, teasing, taunting.

The hammock is quite sensitive to movement, but neither of them wants to go anywhere, so they stick to lazy kissing for now. When things flare up, Dean sticks his hand down the front of Cas' bathing shorts – they upgraded – and takes care of things. Cas repays him later with blowing him on the bed, after they wake up from a midday nap. Later, they sit on the dock with their feet in the water, a boat idly bobbing on the small waves.

“I could get used to this,” Dean admits quietly.

“A beach getaway every once in a while?” Cas grins, tilts his head back as he leans on his hands.

“Yeah. And the steady supply of orgasms,” he winks, throwing his leg over Cas' lap to straddle him.

Cas laughs against his lips, and it's the most beautiful sound Dean has ever heard. 

In the evening, they summon some snacks and eat down at the beach, wait until the moon and stars shine brightly against the backdrop of the night sky, and talking becomes making out and they sink into the still-warm sand, cocks trapped between them, frotting against each other until Cas comes with a shudder running through his entire body. Dean finishes himself off, shoots his load all over Cas' stomach. Before their lips meet in a deep, loving kiss, Dean keeps his eyes open for a moment, and blue eyes study him in return. The kiss itself is so very slow, almost tentative, the blue of Cas' eyes shining with a warmth that makes Dean's stomach turn into a knot.

The night is hot, and they sleep naked on top of the covers, not without an interruption in the early morning hours where the breeze still is somewhat refreshing and the waves clash against the poles to the rhythm of their bodies.

It's a pleasant cycle of fuck, eat, sleep, and repeat. When the lazing around factor becomes too much and Dean's feet become too restless, they head out for a long walk on the beach, bare feet in the sand and hands clasped, fingers intertwined between them. 

They talk about everything and nothing.

“I watched you rake leaves,” Cas says, with a sigh, as if it's a confession.

“Okay?” Dean shakes his head, eyebrows knit together tightly. That came out of nowhere.

“At Lisa's place. Before it all went down the drain. I thought I couldn't ask you for help, and seeing you happy, I couldn't possibly demand... So when I needed a moment of solitude, I'd just seek you out, watch you work or do mundane things.”

“You're a sap,” Dean returns. “And an idiot, but I've told you that a couple of times.”

The thought still hurts, that betrayal, all the lying, all the secrets. Not that it didn't royally blow up in everyone's faces, but still. However, they learned their lesson.

That evening, in the pale moon light shining through the windows, Dean asks Cas to finger him, for the first time. He's curious, he wants to know what it feels like, and Cas doesn't ask questions. But he sits down on the mattress of their bed, pulls Dean onto his lap and starts with lubing up his finger, with kissing and teasing and taking it so slow, Dean almost loses his mind.

When he can't take it any more, Dean jerks himself off, Cas' finger not even fully inside of him. The idea that finger leaves him with is what makes him come so hard, he slumps in on himself, almost tackles Cas to the bed afterwards. And so what if he's into gay sex. So what if Cas' mouth around him feels so fucking good, so what if his finger, only to the second knuckle, made Dean see stars. It felt incredible and huge already, and Dean has no idea how he will ever make it to taking Cas' cock, but his competitive streak is tickled and he knows he wants to get there.

The next morning, Dean wakes Cas up with his mouth around his cock. Cas arches his back against the bed, so pretty, so hot, abs working, contracting, and Dean holds his hips in place with both hands as Cas spills in his mouth.

Towards the end of the week, Dean notices two things.

One, he doesn't miss either the hula girls or Sam or anyone else. Two, there's no cabin fever, no fights, no itch under his skin, like he's used to, with Sam or Dad or Lisa. Cas is this calm presence next to him that compliments him in every possible way, and if they don't want to talk, they can go hours without, and it's not even uncomfortable. Other times, they might discuss one of Cas' books that Dean had picked up after he'd been done with it for an hour straight. 

However, what he can't stand, anymore, are the fruity umbrella drinks, so they're back to beer and whiskey, and Cas muses aloud that he tastes more like himself again.

At the small beach bar, they conjure up every possible beer brand that they can think of, from the light Japanese stuff to the bitter northern Europe ones to sweet, impossibly strong Starkbier from a German Monastery. 

That day is the first day they don't have sex since they started having sex, and Dean can't even complain about it. He's so sated, so happy with where things are. And Cas asks, as drunk on good beer as Dean is as drunk on good company, “Do you mind if we don't...?”

“Not at all,” Dean laughs and kisses his temple, then pulls Cas down with him as they fall into their bed and the mild summer breeze lulls them into a blissful, deep sleep.

They make up for it the day after, anyway (Cas manages to blow Dean in the hammock).

And the evening at the beach is just as sweet (Dean gets them off with his hand around their dicks).

In the morning, Cas takes his time fingering Dean open, makes a point to not touch him anywhere else and it's the first time Dean feels a finger against his prostate, feels the tension build and build and ends up so desperate, he comes the second Cas' fingers close around his cock. Cas' smirk afterwards is so self-complacent, Dean makes it a challenge to take him apart within minutes in retaliation. Or something. 

Later that day, they lounge on their cots on the beach, nursing a beer each. Cas is on his front, reading yet another book – the Winnetou books, he's told Dean, are quite controversial in hindsight but as a witness of a time period, very interesting and most of all, they're good entertainment. Dean loved 'Treasure of the Silver Lake', so he's currently re-reading that one.

Dean lies on his back, the book opened on his face so he can nap in the sun without getting blinded. Every once in a while, the sound of the waves crashing onto soft, white sand is interrupted by Cas turning pages.

“Should we get Sam?” Dean throws out the thought because it's there, in his mind.

“If he wants to come.”

Dean checks his phone for the first time in a few days, but apart from a few messages from Charlie, asking where he was on game night, concluding with the best wishes to have fun with Cas, he didn't miss much.

'Up for cocktails and some hula girls?' Dean shoots off a text without thinking too much about it.

'Depends' Sam sends back, and then the three dots blinking across the screen are replaced with another text. 'Are there really any hula girls, does that matter, and most importantly, are you guys decent?'

'Just get your ass here.'

Sam appears not a minute later, with douchebag sunglasses, a drink in his hand and swimming trunks the size of a tent.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean greets him as another cot materializes beside him. Cas waves, engrossed in his book, not even looking up.

“Hi, guys,” Sam grins as he folds his gigantic body onto it. “Good to see you again. So, what've you been up to the past week or so?”

“This,” Dean shrugs and toasts with his beer. “A whole lotta this.”

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“And, you know,” Dean wiggles his.

“No, I don't wanna know,” Sam laughs. “But it's nice here – say, where are we, exactly?”

“Malaysia,” Cas answers, flips another page.

“And, good choice?”

Dean nods. “Good food, drinks all day and that bungalow--” he points over to where their wooden house on poles sits right at the beach, “-- all to ourselves. So, absolutely a good choice.”

That makes Sam grin. “It's so great to see you enjoying your honeymoon.”

Dean blinks, which Sam can't see behind his shades. Cas doesn't react.

They don't comment on it, but Dean lets the thought simmer.

Like he envisioned it what seems like so long ago, they hang out at the beach all afternoon with drinks, get food at the beach bar at night and just take their time to talk. And of course Dean raves about the barbecue, about the chicken wings, egss Sam on because he feels like teasing him.

“So,” Sam asks, a wary look in his eyes. “Have you googled yet what the meatman really means?”

Dean shrugs it off, and Sam fumbles with his phone. Ready to get a phone with a wall of text on the screen shoved at him, Dean already thinks of a comeback.

However, Sam only puts his phone away again.  _What the fuck,_ Dean thinks.

Because Sam will forever be a 90s kid, Dean's phone buzzes with a link to 'let me google that for you'.

It fills in 'meat man' and 'urban dictionary' on its own, and once Dean hits search and goes to the first result, he laughs out loud.

Ok, so he inadvertently boasted about the size of his dick all the time. So what, it's still funny.

“What?” Cas asks, and Dean shows him his phone. With a snort, Cas' nose scrunches up in a way that makes Dean want to kiss the tip of it.

“Well, you don't hear him complaining,” Dean points at Cas, but looks at Sam.

“It's not like I've had your--” Cas starts, but Dean levels him with a wide-eyed stare. “Oh.”

But that's it, the damage is done, and Sam almost laughs himself under the table. He can't reign it in for at least three long minutes, and Dean accepts the laughing fit with a shrug as he eats his food. It's still good meat, even though he won't think twice about calling himself the meatman again.

“Good to know you're the one taking it up--” Sam eventually wheezes out, but trails off in giggles. “I didn't need to know that!”

“You shut your cakehole,” Dean throws back, then realizes that getting angry at Sam won't make this any better, and instead, he puts on an over-the-top grin. “So what if I do.” Not that they did, yet, but he has a point to make here, and if he has a chance make Sam uncomfortable, he'll take it. “What if I don't, what if we never do, because some gay couples don't like it, imagine that - what if we're,” and he throws a salacious, lopsided smirk at Cas, “-- switching, what if we both really, really enjoy getting it up the ass?” Dean smiles at Sam, big and obnoxious.

Sam shifts in his seat. Dean chuckles. He wins.

“Wait,” Cas scowls, like he's puzzling something together as they speak. “You told me about the size of your penis within the first minutes of meeting me.”

Dean blinks at him.

Sam gets the snack plate and stuffs his face with fried everything, trying to hide his grin.

Cas looks between the two of them, as innocent as ever. “You asked why I didn't show up in a vessel in the first place, and I explained to you that it wasn't easy, finding a human vessel durable enough to be able to contain me.”

Remembering now, Dean chuckles at his stupid joke. “'I have the same problem with women.' Did you just realize that joke now?”

“Maybe,” Cas admits. “Yes.”

“Yeah, sorry, that was totally inappropriate.” 

“Because looking at your record, I hardly recall you having any problems finding a woman to--” _air quotes,_ that dork, “-- contain you.”

Dean rubs his forehead. “You really want to talk about this, do you.”

“What? I appreciate the sentiment, and even though I'm a bit late, it was a funny joke,” Cas shrugs. “However, if it was a warning, considering your intentions towards me even then, then you could've made that clearer, sooner.”

“Well, you were the one who went all 'special people can see my true form and I thought I wouldn't need an angel condom to come say hello' – instead you blow up a gas station, a motel and Pamela's eyes. _And_ you were kinda disappointed that I wasn't special enough to behold your true form, so, sorry, you'll need that condom, no barebacking on the first date,” Dean smiles at him.

Cas tilts his head and scowls. “You're referring to sex with or without protection.”

“Yep,” Dean nods. “And I'm not talking about your angel blade.”

Cas sighs, probably regretting all his choices in life. “I'm sorry to not grasp the importance of jokes about genitalia earlier.”

“You're forgiven. Still love ya.” Dean blows him a kiss.

Squinty blue eyes are mock-glaring at him in return. “Let me think about my answer, now that I know you were basically flirting with me all along.”

Dean snorts out a laugh.

Sam just about loses it completely there. And Dean has to admit, he almost forgot about him being there. Which, so much for winning.

“Told you, you were overcompensating,” Sam coughs around a sip of beer that went down the wrong pipe.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean grumbles.

“Jerk,” Sam replies with a shrug and a carefree smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beach, finally! Special shout-out to @Kweh on the [Profound Bond discord server](profoundbond) (where everyone is welcome to join us!) for the barebacking joke. That gem had to go in there, thank you so much!
> 
> And I mapped out the last two chapters of this. I'm sure you're going to love them. Once again, thank you all so much for sticking with me through 100.000 words of this journey - what a milestone. Just a few couple thousand more to go :D Thank you so much for all your lovely comments. I'm so excited after every chapter to hear your thoughts and reactions. It's been an awesome experience *bows out*


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Jimmy stops by the Roadhouse, Dean and Cas have lots of sex on the beach and Sam finally reveals the meaning of the meatman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it through the schmoop so far, have fun with the last full chapter of this story. Get your insulin ready.

“Cas,” Dean sighs into Cas' neck, on all fours, hovering over him. “I think I wanna go back home, tomorrow.”

Sam had excused himself when they had turned in for the night, but it made Dean realize how much he missed what was familiar – his car, their house, the Roadhouse, their friends. Their family. They could always come back to this, here, whenever they felt like it.

“Okay,” Cas answers, pulls Dean down for a few quick, hard kisses. “I'd love to return here, some day. There are a lot of wonderful memories attached to this place now.”

Dean smirks at him, lets his eyes fall closed. “Let's make a few more?” he asks, goes in for a deep kiss, tilts Cas' chin up, and lets the tension build. They've become very good at this, at innocent little kisses that turn smoking hot within ten seconds, with just a head tilt and lips giving in, turning soft and wet and pliant. Open-mouthed kisses, hungry, vigorous. Tongues meeting, breath catching, gasping for air.

Yeah, they've become pretty good at all of this.

Cas' hands slip under the collar of Dean's shirt, slip it right off where it hangs loosely around his shoulders. When his fingertips meet the still reddened, not quite healed skin on his left shoulder, Dean shudders – there's no pain, it's more like goosebumps, like a shiver running through his body, his soul, like every cell of his being accepts that this is who laid claim to him.

I feels so good, so right.

Dean rolls his hips down, feels Cas hard against him, feels Cas' hand dip into the back of his shorts.

Grinning, Dean sits back on his heels and pulls Cas up with him, both to give him better access and so he can get Cas' shirt off, too. With his legs to either side of Cas' hip, it's the perfect position for making out, for frottage, for some groping, and Dean has learned to love being on top.

Cas' lips open under his, sucking in a sharp breath, and with a snap of his fingers, he gets Dean's shorts off. The hard length sliding up next to his tells him that Cas hasn't just made short work of Dean's, but also his own remaining clothes. And yes, perfect, Dean had no ambitions of fumbling those off.

To make it a bit easier for Cas, Dean leans back, shoves Cas by his hips towards the headboard so he can sit back against it. On his way to crawl back into his lap, Dean dips his head, sucks Cas' cock into his mouth, once, twice, lingers down low, takes him as deep as he can. He gets better at it, but it's far from deep-throating, and when he chokes himself in a overeager attempt – and that's definitely not sexy, not in his book – he pulls off, licks down the side of it, places a kiss into the coarse hair at the base. He also loves that Cas doesn't shave, that he smells like ocean and salt and himself. It's perfect and so intoxicating. Working his way up over Cas' hipbones, his belly button, up to his chest, Dean is tempted. He takes a look at Cas, who has his head leaned back against the headboard, eyes almost closed, chest rising and falling quickly, lips turned a delicious red. The fun fact is, Cas is pretty unresponsive to fingers on his nipples – but Dean's mouth will have him writhing in his arms, cock jumping against Dean's belly, and Dean loves to take full advantage of this particular piece of knowledge. When his mouth meets Cas', eventually, he gets the breath kissed right out of his lungs.

Dean's senses are overloading, like so often when they do this. It's just what Cas does to him.

Cas' hair is a mess, and Dean runs his hand through it, through thick strands that end in cute little curls behind his ears. His look is to die for, disheveled and sexy and so confident as Cas reaches for their cocks, between them. And yet, Dean cannot take it any longer than all of five strokes, before it's too much already.

“Stop, stop, can you-- could we,” Dean gasps, hand on Cas', holding him down. “I dunno, do something else? It's our last night, here, I wanna drag this out, enjoy it.”

For a long moment, Cas squints at him. “Would you want my finger?” Cas asks, and--

“Hell, yes,” Dean growls, want curling low in his gut.

The immediate reaction makes Cas smirk as he reaches around, fingers feather-light and soft as they map their way over Dean's back and down his spine towards his tailbone.

A full-body shiver runs through Dean at the sheer thought.

Cas' finger finds his ass, circling the sensitive ring of muscle while blue eyes stare straight into his soul. “Cas, please,” Dean begs, because if there's just  _this,_ this pleasant teasing, he'll come even sooner.

With a kiss, Cas distracts him as he lubes up his fingers, and then he's back, fingertip breaching him. Cas pushes until Dean gasps, then waits, eyes focused and too intense and entirely too serious.

Experimentally, Dean moves his hips, goes in slow, tentative circles down and up, down and up, working Cas' finger deeper, taking the second knuckle, and then there's knuckles against his ass cheek, there's the pad of a finger curling against his prostate and Dean _groans._

“This good? Do you want thrusts or a massage?” Cas asks. Ever so considerate.

Dean huffs out a laugh as Cas rubs against his prostate, as he feels the pressure building, as he feels his balls tighten.

“Thrusts,” Dean says, to draw this out, but he has a better idea. “Or wait, let me.”

And so, he lifts himself on his knees and pushes back down, so slowly, riding Cas' finger. He presses his eyes shut in an attempt to get that image out of his head, what he must look like, fucking himself on Cas in the pale moon light. Neck on display, back arching. Taking his time, taking all the time he wants, because he knows they've got it, he waits until the light burn, until the tightness inside of him eases, until he can push down and pull up easily.

“Another,” he whispers, voice hoarse, to Cas, with his hips holding still in mid-air.

“Are you sure?” Cas wants to know, and his hair is a hot mess, so hot. Dean runs his hand through it and and kisses him.

He looks dazed and confused and wonderful when he smiles back at Dean.

“Yes,” Dean nods. Of course he's sure. “C'mon.”

At first, it's only a second fingertip nudging at him to open up.

But when Cas gets it in, it feels _massive,_ stretching him further than ever before, and Dean has to pause for a short second there, breathes through the slight discomfort.

If they ever want to take it further than this, if he ever wants to have something in his ass that's not just fingers, if he ever wants to see if he likes that, they have to start somewhere. They've done fingering – he's done it to Cas as well, even though Dean's been on the receiving end more often than not, so far – for weeks. He can do it.

Dean breathes, relaxes into the touch, pushes down, and stops once Cas is past the second ring of muscle.

He breathes. There's sweat building at his hairline, and he feels oversensitive, stretched too thin, every inch of his skin on fire.

The burn isn't there, this time, only the stretch and this incredible, but weirdly shaped fullness.

“You okay?” Cas nips against his neck, his other hand rubbing circles into the base of Dean's spine, loosening him up in other ways.

Dean nods, slumps against Cas, captures his face in both hands and kisses him, slow, sweet, as he rocks down, hips working. As he feels Cas meeting his thrusts, inch by delicious inch, two fingertips at his prostate now, Dean is pretty sure that--

Yes, he could come like this. He kind-of doesn't want to.

Groaning, pushing down and forward, to feel Cas against him, rock hard and leaking pre-come. Dean's vision is blurry with pleasure. Deeming one hand on the headboard enough to keep him upright, he reaches down, curls his fingers around Cas' dick.

Wound too tight and obviously aroused by Dean once again riding his fingers, Cas jerks in his hand with a barely contained moan. _“Dean,”_ is all he says, in that voice of his that would make any sexline go bankrupt because Dean would legit cream his pants just hearing that one word, just his name.

“Wanna feel you,” Dean's voice is shot to hell, but who cares. 

And they could, couldn't they? Those two fingers don't hurt. What's a bit more?

Cas leans forward, into him, rests his head against Dean's shoulder, bliss on his face. “What? But you already have--”

“Nah,” Dean grins, bites his bottom lip, lets it pop out again. “I mean this.” And he gives Cas' dick a few, quick strokes, and Cas curls against him, fingers clutching into his back.

Harsh breaths, a last grapple at control, reddened lips on stubble.

To hear Cas breathless will forever fuck Dean up. “Are we really doing this?”

“Why not?” Dean replies with a shit-eating grin. “Don't knock it 'til you tried it and all that.”

Cas' eyes go wide with pleasure and anticipation. “Do you want to?”

“ _Yes,_ obviously,” Dean answers, pushes down, gets his fingers that bit deeper. It feels amazing, it's hard to imagine that it can get even better. Maybe it will, maybe it won't. He won't see if they don't--

When Cas removes his fingers, Dean's heart just about jumps out of his chest. It beats too hard, too loud, too frantic, and he sweats with nerves in all the best ways. Watches, transfixed, as Cas lubes up, and then Dean takes over. He rolls up on his knees, reaches behind his back with his free hand, tries to hold Cas in place.

The angle is all wrong, they don't align and Dean feels something twinge in his back, leaning too far back - so he nudges Cas' hip, makes him sit lower against the headboard.

The first three tries end up with the head of Cas' cock nudging against Dean's rim and slipping off, against his balls or up his crack. After the third time, Dean snorts with frustration and Cas kisses it off his lips, grinning against them. “Here, let me,” he offers, voice a quiet, reassuring whisper against the drums that are Dean's heartbeat in his ears.

He holds his cock up, and Dean can angle his hips the way he needs them to, and, “Yeah, that's it,” Dean sighs, and with a slip and a nudge, Cas is in and Dean-- _“Oh.”_

Cas looks at him, blue eyes shining, pupils wide, nostrils flaring from holding back. Dean pushes down, only to see Cas' face convulsing with pleasure, with want, and knowing that he's the reason for it makes it even better. He has to stop and hold himself back an inch later. The shape of his cock is much easier than two fingers, which are not an ergonomic shape, sort of.

Pressing his lips together, Cas closes his eyes. Dean can imagine what it feels like, sinking into tight, hot wetness, so slow - and yeah, they definitely have to switch some time, no matter how Dean enjoys this.

Because he does. So he works in the next inch, breathes.

“Take it easy,” Cas says, eyes still closed, voice tight. “Is it okay? Painful? You know, you could-- I could take the pain away.”

“No,” Dean is quick to dismiss it, cradles Cas' jaw in his hand, kisses his cheek, lips rasping over stubble. “It's... I want to feel every last bit of it, okay? It's not pain, it's not even discomfort, it's just--” he tries to go lower, deeper, and he seems to have reached a point where the lube just does what it does and he can sit down in Cas' lap, takes the rest in one go. “Fuck. Feels so full,” he scowls, tries to hear his breathing through his heartbeat. It's so much, all at once. “Feels good,” Dean wheezes out between teeth pressed shut.

A whisper, a plea between moist puffs of air against his chest. _Desperation._ “Can I move?”

Dean does it for them, and Cas meets him halfway. Shallow, short little thrusts at first, and when Cas pulls out almost completely, Dean gasps. Alright, okay. He can see where the appeal lies. “Do that again,” he breathes, peppers Cas' ear and neck with kisses.

Cas bites his nipple, softly, pushes back in quickly, only to remove himself slowly until just the head remains inside of Dean.

“Again,” he begs.

Cas holds onto him, steadies him, because Dean's legs start to wobble from kneeling too long, among other factors. His hand reaches around his back, around his hip, but that's not where Dean falters, so Cas' hand shifts, up his side, to his elbow, to his shoulder.

His fingers line up with the hand print, and Dean feels it, like a zing. He wheezes for air.  This, he doesn't remember it like this. Anna had touched him, he remembers, though he does not want to think about her now. Her touch had felt nothing like Cas. It was just a touch, not  _this._

Maybe  _because_ it's Cas.

There's an electric current, zapping through him, setting him on fire from the inside out, like the hand print is an electric outlet and Cas just plugged in a vibrator. Well, he knows those run on batteries – so a massage stick, then. It's the only thing that's for sexual pleasure he can think of, but then again, Dean's brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders right now, so. He leans into the touch, and when their eyes meet, Cas has the sweetest, cutest smile on his lips.

“You feel that, too?” Dean asks, breathless.

“Yes,” a sigh full of bliss, “It's my grace, it's what connects us. That's what we're feeling. It's intertwining with your soul.”

“Oh, god,” Dean moans, head falling against Cas', overwhelmed. He tilts his hips just so and at the next push-pull, there's that perfect pressure against his prostate. Grinding down, he doesn't feel pain - there never _was_ pain, there's nothing but pure pleasure and the slick slippery slide of a cock inside of him. And while there might've been a time where Dean would've panicked at the sheer thought, now he looks at Cas, sees love and devotion and the blissed-out roll of his eyes that happens right before--

“Dean,” a groan, another deep thrust, and Dean doesn't feel it right that second, but he knows Cas is spilling into him, filling him up even more, and that thought, that he's marked, that he's Cas'--

Their hands both reach for Dean's cock and it barely takes him three strokes to join Cas with a white-hot orgasm. It leaves his whole body twitching, stomach rolling with heat and residual arousal that Dean knows will accompany him for a while.

Cas pulls out of him, softening already, and Dean feels it, then.

The trickle of cum, running along his inner thigh. It drips down against Cas' legs, and wondering, Cas reaches around him, follows the trail to Dean's hole, too sensitive, contracting at the touch, and he chases until Dean squirms away with a chuckle.

“Possessive bastard,” Dean scolds him playfully. 

Cas hums, low in his throat, and looks at him with stars in his eyes and a grin on his lips. “I was going to suggest that I take over the receiving part once you would be willing to try anal sex,” he states. “But something tells me this wasn't an entirely unwelcome outcome.”

“Not at all, no,” Dean leans in, kisses behind Cas' ear, makes him shiver. “You can bottom next time.”

“Clean-up?” Cas asks.

Dean nods and pulls them down into the sheets, and Cas snaps it all away, the residual lube, the sticky, slimy streaks over his abdomen and down their thighs.

Dean feels so pleasantly sore in all the right places, he falls asleep with only one last thought.

To think that he called Cas junkless once. _Ha._ His ass begs to differ. Joke's on him now.

***  
  
“Home, sweet home,” Dean sighs, as he unlocks the front door, peeks into the garage to pat Baby's hood for good measure. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Cas has long since stopped looking at him funny for this kind of behavior. In fact, when Dean turns around, he can already see Cas leaving through the back door, most likely to look for his bees.

This morning, they had enjoyed one last breakfast on the beach and an hour of lazing in the hammock, and then Cas had grabbed Dean's hand, Dean had nodded, and like that, they zapped back home.

After a week, give or take, of only wearing bathing shorts and short-sleeved shirts, jeans feel very restricting.

And after a week of hanging out with each other, Dean is almost restless, looking forward to the Roadhouse tonight. It's a Saturday, so he's showering and getting ready, wraps his shoulders into a too-tight t-shirt and jeans that he knows make his ass look delectable.

Cas, of course, notices, but doesn't comment. He does, however, stick his hand down into the back pockets when Dean kisses him, just because he wants to.

Dean grins. “So, let's see what everyone's been up to?”

“Lead the way,” Cas pops his hands free to wave at the Impala.

AC/DC starts playing the second Dean turns the key in the ignition. Baby purrs to life like only she does, and he grins.

Yeah, so, beach vacations are fun and all, but this is where he's home, this is his element, his car, Cas by his side. _This is it._

Dean sings along with Brian Johnson all the way to the Roadhouse.

“Look who decided to show his ugly mug for once,” Ellen chides, only half-serious.

“Yeah, sorry for skipping out on you like that,” Dean half-apologizes to her in accordance while hugging her.

Apparently, having heard his voice, Jo sticks her head out from around the corner of the bar. “Where have you been, anyway?”

“Who is it?” Someone shouts from the vague vicinity of the kitchen.

“Hey, Ash!” Dean calls out.

“Hey, Dean!”

“Malaysia,” Cas answers the question at hand.

Jo waggles her eyebrows. Ellen just says, “Ah.” And Ash, unhelpfully, peeks through the hatch, “You even seen the beach or didn't you leave the hotel room anyway?”

“Both, both was good?” Dean tries.

The all snort or cough or start to laugh in some form, and Dean turns to Cas with a shrug, then gets them both a beer.

“So what happened in the meantime? Did we miss anything?” Dean asks Ellen.

Ellen nods. “Yeah, um. That kid of yours was here.”

Dean scowls at Ellen, then at Cas, finds pinched lips and confusion. “Jack?”

“No, a girl, long blond hair,” Ellen ponders. “Jo, you remember her name?”

“Clara... Claire?”

Slowly, Dean feels himself smile. “Was Kaia with her?”

“Dark hair, mysterious type, don't-fuck-with-me attitude?” Jo asks.

“That one,” Dean points at her.

“She came in a day later,” Ellen says, then shrugs. “Haven't seen them since.”

So, Claire and Kaia. Dean wonders if Jimmy met them yet and how he reacted.

For the moment, he takes it all in and does his job. They disperse around the Roadhouse, everyone doing what they always do. Every time Dean ducks down under the counter to put away an empty bottle or reach for the trash bin, he feels _that_ twinge in his back, and he has a hard time stifling the grin.

“Everything alright?” Cas asks during a quiet moment, when Dean has time to steal a few kisses before he has to head back to the other side of the counter. “You seem tense.”

“That's cause--” Dean breaks off. Tries to think about what to say aloud, then decides it's nothing incriminating. “Yeah, I pulled something in my back. But it's nothing to worry about.”

And even though he's filling a glass with beer from the tap and can't look at Cas, he can _hear_ the head tilt and the frown and the squinty eyes. “How?”

Dean bites his lip hiding a grin and prays, attaches the mental image because he can. 'Reaching down for your cock, riding you.'

In fascination, he watches as Cas turns red-cheeked under his gaze, then hides behind his beer. Dean leers, doesn't break eye contact once.

'And I don't even mind, because every time I feel that, it reminds me of one of the best nights of my life.'

Blue eyes shift upwards, meet his, and there's the first twitch of a smile.

That's also when he spots his Mom coming up to the bar and the half-chubbie in his pants dies a quick, unrelenting death.

***  
  
That Sunday, Dean and Cas do actually show up for family dinner, and Dean even baked that pie he promised Mary last week. Really baked it, by himself. Pumpkin spice. Okay, so Cas helped chop the pumpkin. But the rest, Dean did all by himself. It turned out alright, considering the fact that Cas made the unsanitary decision to distract him halfway through the blind bake with a blowjob.

But, seriously, Cas on his knees, that is sin in a single picture, and Dean had come so fast it was almost embarrassing.

Nobody is angry at them for the week of radio silence. It's heaven, after all, and their responsibilities aren't any more than what they actually take upon themselves. And so what if they needed an out. There's no need to worry, not in heaven, not where everyone is safe and free.

The days and weeks all blend together after that. Christmas looms around the corner way too fast, and Dean spends Christmas eve with Cas at Sam's and Eileen's, and they drink eggnog all night until Eileen passes out. The morning after, there's cheesy gifts wrapped in newspaper for old time's sake, and Dean gets a gift voucher for a sex shop from Sam and a necklace from Cas. The symbol on the coin hanging on it is Enochian, and Cas won't reveal what it means, just that he likes to see Dean wearing jewelry. So Dean wears it anyway.

He forgets about asking Bobby for any lore books or any Enochian translation all the way through the Christmas holidays, too busy hopping from his parents' to Bobby's and Ellen's place, and then it's practically almost New Year's eve and the Roadhouse is packed.

Dean kisses Cas under the fireworks at midnight and knows that for once, this year will be his best yet.

About halfway through January, the snowfalls start and just don't stop.

Dean zaps everywhere because he hates driving in the snow, so if he can forego it, he will. They still warm up the hot tub and lounge in the cold air under bubbling, hot water, and Dean makes a sweet punch, something between mulled wine and a warm fruit cocktail, for them to drink, before he ducks under Cas' shoulder and they rest there, soaking, for hours. With or without words, it's perfect, it's comfortable, it's everything Dean ever wanted.

On the morning of his birthday, Dean finds himself waking up to dim lighting and thawing cold nipping at his toes. It's only for a moment, before Cas erects some kind of protective barrier around them, heat and warmth returning to Dean's limbs. He sees white, all around himself, and it takes him a long moment to realize it's snow.

“Where are we?” Dean asks, scanning the rough mountain tops, as far as the eye can see, around them. They're at the highest point, and looking down, Dean can see that this is not a beginner's track to climb, either. On the horizon, the crimson red dawn has not quite given way to the blinding morning sun.

Cas smiles. “'On top of the world.'”

“Mount Everest?” Dean's eyebrows shoot upwards.

“You said you wanted to see the sunrise on Mount Everest, once,” Cas leans against him. “And I thought, in all the years I've known you, I rarely even saw you on your birthday. Or gave you a present. And getting presents for you is hard, Dean.”

“Bottle of Black Label will do. Told you, I'm not a fancy boy,” Dean jokes.

Cas levels him with his chin held high and his left eyebrow even higher. Dean knows that look, it means Cas is serious and Dean shall not even try to joke this off or so help him.

“You are, though,” Cas says, deliberately slow, with emphasis, before he reaches for Dean's hips, pulling him into an embrace. Dean's arms go around Cas' middle out of reflex and muscle memory. 

At least Cas had the presence of mind to zap them into clothes. Somehow, that makes this less awkward.

Cas sighs against Dean's lips. “Everything about you is remarkable, Dean, and you deserve the world. And yet, all I can offer is myself.”

“I don't want the world, too much responsibility,” Dean huffs, but leans in to rest his forehead against Cas'. “I have everything I ever wanted. 'sides,” he chuckles, “Is that a proposal?”

Ever so slowly, Cas' fingers trail up his side, to where the hand print is underneath Dean's flannel. “You know that marriage is just a sentiment?”

Dean has a very hard time not breaking into a grin, so he hides it behind a kiss. “Yes? No tax returns in heaven and all.”

“You know that it's technically not necessary,” Cas adds.

Dean rolls his eyes. “It's not like I didn't know from the moment that Bobby said, 'Cas helped' to rebuild heaven. I knew that however we'd make it, it'd be us, together, for eternity. So, if you ask me once again if I know the definition of a sentiment, yes, Cas, I do, and also, yes, Cas, I do.”

Blinking at him, Cas tilts his head, and Dean cradles his face in his hands.

Dean suddenly feels insecure at Cas' confused look. “Wait. Was it a proposal?”

“I was working up to it,” Cas turns to kiss the inside of Dean's hand. “I didn't quite know if it was something you'd find desirable.”

Dean nods, not hiding his grin this time, elation making his heart beat lighter. “It's a nice sentiment. And it'll be one hell of a party.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other, processing what just happened.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” is what Cas says, in the end.

“Thank you,” Dean grins, kisses him long and sweet. The first beams of sunlight dip the mountaintops into a glowing orange, the snow reflecting the rays in a million shades, and it's like the floor glitters around them. “This is... great.”

A lopsided tilt to Cas' lips makes him look mischievous, a bit like when he has a certain plan in mind that will make Dean come his brains out within the next ten minutes. For once, there's no sexual innuendo behind it, though, and no dark leer in his blue eyes.

Cas clears his throat. “So, it's very hard to find a suitable gift for you, and instead, I thought I'd take you somewhere special. I hope you enjoy this.”

“I do,” Dean answers, humoring him.

“And I know I could've gotten you a bottle of whiskey, but I'm sure you'll get a couple more today and I have... nothing to offer, really, except for a question.”

“Mmhm,” Dean hums as Cas reaches for his hands, traces knuckles and scars. “Shoot.”

Eventually, he looks up, and in all the years they've known each other, Dean can name one exact situation that he felt this floored by the power of those blue eyes.

In the bunker, Billy banging at the door, Cas smiling at him, eyes open, filled with tears and love.

His breath hitches.

There's no tears, this time.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Cas.”

With the knowledge of what had happened that day, of how heavy those words once were exchanged, they gain twice the meaning.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Dean says on the exhale. “And you know, it's a good thing that I got us these.”

He reaches into his pocket, wishes the pouch into existence that has been residing in his bedside table ever since he got it.

Confused, Cas takes the velvety, black sachet in his hand. “What is this?”

Dean motions for him to open it.

Cas pulls the drawstring apart, and with a fine clatter, the rings tumble into his open palm. There's a moment of silence before he scowls and says, “I thought it was customary for the woman to wear an engagement ring?”

“Yeah, fuck that,” Dean shrugs, then picks up one of the rings. Fine silver, not thin enough to be feminine, but not delicate, either. No swirls, no bling, no engraved flowers. Just silver rings with a round, white pearl set in the middle. Not a huge stone or a massive diamond, that wouldn't be them.

Dean reaches for Cas' left hand and sees if the ring fits onto his ring finger. Of course it does.

Cas puts the other one on Dean's ring finger, and the first time Dean sees it, there, it makes his stomach burst with butterflies and all the cheesy things he'd never let himself have. _Damn chick-flick moments._ Though he has to admit, he walked right into that one.

“Wait, when did you get these?” Cas wants to know.

Dean dips his chin on his chest, hiding as he admits, “On our first date. Pullman City.”

Cas' eyes turn wide as he puts together what this means, and he suddenly starts to chuckle. “I see. So I wouldn't have needed to question whether you wanted to get married or not. It was your plan all along.”

“You just beat me to the question,” Dean laughs.

Cas leans against him, and Dean's arms wrap around him once again. He seems sheepish, but Dean gets it once Cas says, “I know it's customary to do this, but I don't think I'll ask your Dad for your hand.”

“Yeah, _please_ don't,” Dean coughs.

For a few long minutes, they remain right there in their literal and figurative bubble, on top of the world, grinning goofy grins at each other, arms around each other, kissing.

***  
  
The day is a blur.

Guests coming and going, bringing pie or whiskey or both, and if anyone notices the rings, they don't comment on it.

In a silent agreement, everyone knows what this day means.

And even though it's a Sunday, when Dean gets to the Roadhouse that night, it's _packed._ There's a huge buffet and Zeppelin is playing on the juke box, Ash and Ellen are pouring drinks until they tell everyone to “get your own, dammit!”.

Dean has seen busy nights at the Roadhouse. Very busy nights.

This is nothing like it. People are standing chest to chest, toasting to him, and he tries to work the room, get around to everyone at least once.

Claire calls him an old man and Dean doesn't have a good reply. Kaia tells her to behave herself. Dean doesn't see rings on their hands.

He gets to a table where Donna and Jody, arms around each other, sit opposite of Sean and Bobby, with Ellen at the third side of the booth. They are laughing about some story Donna is telling over the noise, and Dean flops down next to Donna for a bit, until Pamela takes his place.

Kevin and Ash are playing pool and Dean wonders how they haven't set it on fire yet. They take this shit way too seriously.

Charlie jumps on his back and Jo laughs when he drops her, unceremoniously, onto a bar stool.

He eats about twenty different flavors of pie and crust combinations.

When he finds Sam, he's with Eileen and Pamela, who apparently jumped tables in the meantime, and Sam gets him in a headlock and drinks shots with him. When Dean wonders, Eileen signs to him that she made sure that he'd keep up his liquids. In other words, Sam is as good as smashed and behaving like a big puppy.

“Hey, Dean,” he asks, staring wistful into the crowd. “I know this sounds cliché and all, but. Look around you. All these people, so many hunters that met us maybe once, twice? Remember all the times when we thought it was you and me against the world. It never was. Even when they weren't there, for whatever reason. These are the people we did it for.”

Dean nods, hugs his brother because he's a sentimental little shit and Dean loves him. “You're drunk,” he tells him.

“And you aren't?”

“On my birthday? You bet your ass I'll get hammered today, and not by Cas. Okay, maybe by Cas, too.”

Sam groans. “And there goes that moment.”

“By the way, have you seen Cas?”

“He's over there, with Jimmy. I meant to call him over, but they're like, talking it out or some shit.”

Dean heads on over, slides in next to Cas, wraps an arm around his shoulders in one fluent move and kisses his cheek. “Hey, sweetheart,” he grins.

“I thought that name was reserved for your car,” Cas replies, dry as ever.

Dean grins. “Sometimes I love you more than my car. But only sometimes. Hi, Jimmy.”

“Hi, Dean,” and Dean won't ever understand how he didn't notice just how different Jimmy sounds. No 'Hello, Dean' either. And he _smiles_ while he says it.

“You two good?” Dean asks, and Jimmy nods.

“Yes, we got to talk about some stuff,” Cas adds.

Jimmy's eyes flicker between the two of them. “I know I haven't been here since... that night. But I talked to my wife a lot, and of course Claire has been a godsend. I know you did the best you could, Jody in particular, and I appreciate it. So we're good, yes.”

“You should come hang out here more often,” Dean offers. “We don't bite and all.”

There's a grin playing around Jimmy's lips. “But if I'm not careful, I'll get felt up and kissed by my twin's boyfriend.”

“Um,” Dean coughs, scratching his neck.

That's when Jimmy freezes, staring at them. At Dean's hand around Cas' shoulder. At Cas' hands, entwined on the table in front of him. The rings, Dean realizes.

Slowly, Jimmy starts to grin. “Don't tell me you two--”

Dean shushes him, quickly looks around. “Not officially. I don't think anybody has noticed yet.”

Jimmy's eyebrows climb all the way up to his hairline. “Congratulations?”

“Thanks,” Cas accepts with a dignity that only he can muster.

Dean is grinning like a loon.

“Recent?” Jimmy wants to know.

“Very,” Cas says.

And ok, maybe those two share some characteristics. It's kind of funny, that whole one-word-dialogue.

Dean is in the middle of excusing himself when he sees her.

Dark locks, dark skin. He only sees her back, but his heart stops. For a heartbeat, he thinks it's Billy, but when she turns around, looking for someone, Dean recognizes her instantly.

“I'm gonna go say hello to someone,” he explains towards Cas and Jimmy.

His heart beats in his throat.

Isn't this ironic.

“Cassie?” he asks.

“Dean!” she exclaims with a wide grin, hugs him to say hello. “I felt like something was going on up here, so I headed over.”

She's as beautiful as ever. Dean swallows around that persistent lump in his throat. She will always be the one that got away, too. But he's not 26 any more, and she's not, either. There's no more torch to carry, there.

“Yeah, actually, it's my birthday,” he shrugs it off, to be humble.

“Well, happy birthday, then,” Cassie smiles, kisses his cheek and Dean does not feel like this is heading in the right direction.

“Cassie, um, I don't know about you, but I'm spoken for, just to make that clear,” Dean states.

She falters for a moment, then waves him off. “Of course. Sorry, didn't mean to come off like I was rekindling old feelings. I'm actually married.”

“Congratulations,” Dean offers, then waves her over. “But, you know. We can still have a drink.”

They sit at the bar with a beer each and it's a nice and easy conversation, Dean learns about her husband and three kids and he's happy for her, he is. It's a life he couldn't have ever given her.

“Did you ever find a way out of the life?” Cassie asks, as if she's read his mind.

Dean huffs, only half amused. “No. Or well, for a while. Didn't stick and ended messy, and I never tried that again, afterwards. Sammy managed it, after I died on the job.”

“God for him, but wow - sucks for you.”

“Nah, I actually--” Dean is interrupted by Cas appearing by his side. “Hey,” Dean smiles, reaches around his waist to pull him close. “What's up?”

“Jimmy went home, so I thought I'll come over. There's still so many people here that I haven't ever met.”

Dean grins. “Right. So, um, Cassie, this is Castiel. Cas, this is Cassie, my ex-girlfriend.”

And wow, that sentence was trippy.

“I see you have a type,” Cassie laughs.

“For names?” Dean chuckles. “Yeah, apparently. Cas is my... fiancé.”

Talk about trippy. Dean can't help but grin from ear to ear.

“Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Cassie says and they shake hands.

Cas just takes it with a matter-of-fact-ness that makes Dean feel fuzzy inside.

Cassie has that wide grin plastered on her face that Dean fell for so, so long ago. “I'm glad to see you happy. Bit of a surprise, but I can see why this works for you.”

It doesn't change anything now.

“Dean!” 

And that's Sam, waving at him over the heads of most of the patrons.

“Excuse me, you two,” Dean says towards Cas and Cassie and shoulders his way through the crowd. “Sam, what's up?”

“Someone here I'd like you to meet,” Sam winks, then steps aside to see Eileen sign to a floppy-haired, doe-eyed guy in his mid-30s. She seems emotional, tears in her eyes as she hugs him.

That's also when Eileen notices Dean and grins.

Sam coughs, grins when he has the guy's attention. Points at Dean and says, “Dean, this is Dean.”

“My uncle Dean?” Dean asks.

Dean just can't anymore with the name similarities, today. “Hi, Dean, glad to meet you.”

“Hi, uncle Dean. I've heard all about you.”

They shake hands and share a grin. Dean can see it clearly now. The haircut and color, that's all Sam. Eyes and nose, all Eileen. The lips, not Sam, but a Winchester treat. “I bet. Have a drink with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the rest of the evening at the Roadhouse, I'd like to refer to [Chad](https://twitter.com/ChadLindberg/status/1353449806849433600) [Lindberg's](https://twitter.com/ChadLindberg/status/1353540436346990594) [various](https://twitter.com/ChadLindberg/status/1353550894718046208) [tweets](https://twitter.com/ChadLindberg/status/1353593983826419712), because I have nothing to add but [Samantha Ferris](https://twitter.com/samanthajferris/status/1354633570271125505) had.
> 
> Anyway. The happiest of birthdays to Dean Winchester.
> 
> People, we have one more chapter to go. It won't be as long, because it's the epilogue. But you'll enjoy it. Thanks for reading this far, it's been a joy for me.


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: third base happens, Cas proposes to Dean, and the Roadhouse gets wrecked during Dean's birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end.

_September 18 th, 2021_

Dean is nervous, though he has no reason to be. He takes the book Sam hands him, nods, opens it with shaky fingers.

Shifts on his feet, to get better light on the pages. Not that he really needs it in the midst of the afternoon on a warm Saturday in autumn.

His stomach is in knots, his hands are sweaty.

There are too many sets of eyes on him. They said they'd keep it a small ceremony in their back yard, so Baby could wait in eyesight and Cas' bees could bear witness, but every last chair is taken. So much for that plan.

Dean looks at Cas, tries to focus on him, on the only person that matters, and ignore their audience. Because this is for Cas.

He clears his throat.

“So, um, Cas. I can't believe this is actually happening. I never thought this would ever be in the cards, for me, or you. Now I know I'm not good with words, but I also know you hate to see me put myself down, so here goes nothing. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the day you told me that you loved me, you didn't just save me, but you also saved the world. You told me exactly what I needed to hear when I needed to hear it - that my love was seen and reciprocated, and it made all the difference. You told me, that I was the one thing you wanted, and you knew you could never have. Well, turns out. You always had me. I love you, Cas. Have loved you for a long time. Will love you for as long as I am. So I guess you're stuck with me now. You call me out on being a sap all the time and I usually deny it, but - maybe you're right. I'll admit that, just between us, today,” he finishes with a wink, voice rough with emotion. That gets a few chuckles from their guests, at least.

Cas' eyes flash with a suspicious wet shine to them.

Dean's attention is entirely on him when Cas takes his book from Sam.

Cas breathes, and he seems quite out of his element, too. As if that was even possible, Dean is even more nervous now than he was during his own vows.

Thing is, he _knew_ his own vows, has been working on them for weeks.

He has no idea what happens next, and isn't that exhilarating?

“Dean,” Cas starts, looking straight at him, before his gaze shifts to the page before him, “I thought a lot about what my vow would be today, what I would even promise you. After all we've been through, you and I, it seems so insignificant. And yet, it's the most important part of it all, the reason why we're here. I wasn't supposed to get too close to the humans in my charge, and yet I did. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you, and yet I did. We were not meant to be, and yet here we are. You told me once, to 'don't ever change'. And yet, you've changed me. Not only that, but you also changed alongside with me, and together, we cared too much about the whole world. It never was destiny or some divine plan, it was always just dumb luck with the two of us. I love you for all that you are, Dean. So let me promise you this: I will be by your side and change with you, wherever our road may lead us.”

Dean breathes and Cas grins before they meet in the middle for a searing kiss.

***  
  
The reception, of sorts, is of course held at the Roadhouse.

Because Sam is a sap, he pestered Dean until he agreed to do a wedding waltz. Dean still earns an epic bitchface from him when Sam realizes he picked 'Traveling Riverside Blues'. It works, for them, though. A bit fast, and not a waltz, but anyway. Cas twirls Dean around the room and nobody notices that they practiced it about two and a half times. They got distracted in the middle of the last rehearsal, but Dean's sure nobody notices if they exchange a heated look at _that_ part.

It works for them, and that's the point. Dean grins an epic, happy smile, and finds Cas' lips curled at the edges.

Sam, of course, also has a surprise for them, and once the wedding _pie_ is cut, once the last bit of dinner is served and it's time for them to head out and drive into the night, towards their honeymoon – the real one, this time – the stage of the Roadhouse that had been curtained off, supposedly because they had no band, had been revealed.

And Kansas, the band, _the real one,_ played them a live rendition of 'Carry on Wayward Son'.

They leave the roadhouse after that, and some chucklehead, most likely Ash, has tied a few cans to the Impala's exhaust tip. To the cheers of their family and friends they get into the car, after hugging his parents, and Sam, and Jack, who'd volunteered to be the flower boy as they walked up their short 'aisle' from the back porch together – Dean found it weird, having his Dad walk him up to his husband-to-be, it just didn't fit for them. They didn't have groomsmen, either, what with Sam officiating anyway. Truth is, they didn't want to choose. Nobody minded, though, and as long as they got the whole gang together, it's perfect, anyway – the rest is just semantics.

They don't drive far, because it's already dark and Dean can't wait to get Cas onto any horizontal surface.

_Carry on - You will always remember._

The song is still stuck in his head when they stumble into a dingy motel room. Dean hums it, low in his throat.

_Carry on - Nothing equals the splendor._

For once, they got a king-sized bed instead of two singles. And since dingy motel rooms have been such a huge part of their life together, it's kind of iconic.

_Now your life's no longer empty._

They can always have the most luxurious honeymoon suite once they reach Las Vegas. They'll probably sleep in the car when they stop at the Grand Canyon, though.

_Surely heaven waits for you._

He's looking forward to taking the scenic road there, the old Route 66, through the midwest, in all its old glory, before it got replaced with the Interstate Highways.

_Carry on my wayward son._

Santa Monica Pier, here they come.

_There'll be peace when you are done._

They fall into the bed, Cas' hands around Dean's neck. Dean's lips on Cas'.

_Lay your weary head to rest._

For a moment, they just lie there. In each other's arms. And everything is perfect.

_Don't you cry no more._

**CARRY ON.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap, folks. 
> 
> Other people will write better fix-its, but this is mine. Thanks for joining me on this ride, thanks for enduring whatever this was. This is my longest fic ever. This has been near and dear to my heart, as a pansexual person, as a fan of the show for most of a decade. As someone who needs peace now that it's done, as someone who thinks Dean Winchester and Castiel deserved better. But I refuse to put an 'end' under this, because Dean and Cas will spend eternity together in heaven, and that's canon.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Thanks to everyone of you who commented, I can assure you that I opened every notification with glee. You guys made posting every single chapter so much fun. 
> 
> Big shout-out to the wonderful people of the [Profound Bond Discord Server.](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)
> 
> And if you want to spread the word on tumblr, [here's a rebloggable tumblr post!](https://howtumblrruinedmylife.tumblr.com/post/641915213750403072)
> 
> P.S.: Dean never finds out what the Enochian symbol on his necklace means. Cas only tells him that it's funnier in Enochian, and he won't explain the joke.


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